


Tell Me Please

by Umeko



Series: Daughter of Fire [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Angst, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Gen, Halls of Mandos, Romance, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 65,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2052201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/pseuds/Umeko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An elfling in Aman asks about her father and brothers. What will she hear? This is an AU fic where our brilliant Feanor unintentionally leaves one of his elflings in Aman with his wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At Grandfather's Place

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer- The canonic characters are the creation of Tolkien. I just borrow them.
> 
> Also posted on fanfiction.net.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An elfling in Mahtan's household asks her mother about her brothers.

_I do not understand why no one would tell me about them,_ the elfling in the corner mused as she watched her grandfather at work. Beads of sweat ran down his face into his beard from the flames. The ringing of the hammer upon metal reassured her. All was dark and cold outside. Inside the forge, it was bright and warm. The grownups whispered if they must speak. By their graveness, the young child learnt to be solemn. She learned to be quiet in her corner, and to keep clear of the flames which would burn her. Thus the apprentices and smiths tolerated her in their midst.

She had heard the whispers about her atar, who had sailed across the sea with his seven sons, before she was born. That was when the Darkness came. Amme would cry at times and she did not know the reason why. Her mother, who was once robust and hale, now lay gaunt and wan in bed. The grownups said she never recovered her strength after her last birth. They would take her to Lorien to heal once the dark and cold lifted. It was too risky to brave the road with torches alone. No one would speak to the child of her father and brothers.

 _“You are much like him… in your colour, at least…”_ one of her many aunts had remarked at dinner before her grandfather shushed her.

On silent feet, the child slipped back into the house, to the room where her amil lay bundled in blankets on a bed, tended to by her grandmother. She waited patiently in the shadows as her grandmother took the empty bowl and tray, and headed past her towards the kitchen.

“Amme?” the child ventured. She was rewarded with a sad smile from the weary nis lying on the pillows.

“What brings you here, little one?”

“Will you tell me about them, please?” Emboldened, the child clambered onto the bedclothes to be closer to her mother.

The smile died on the elf-woman’s lips. For a moment, the elfling feared the tears would come. 

“Where shall I start?” The smile returned to her mother. There was a wistful look in her green eyes as she spoke, as if she were looking into another time and space.

“Who are those who came before me, can you tell me please?”

“Ah, you wish to know about your brothers. The first is Maitimo. He is tall and has red hair, like your grandfather...”

“Does he have a beard like grandfather?”

“Nay, he’s too young to have a beard. Moreover, beards are rare among our kind… Maitimo always watches out for his younger brothers… He would have helped take care of you too.”

“I can take care of myself. Just ask grandfather,” the elfling pouted. Her mother laughed softly.

“Indeed you can. Next was Makalaure. He is not as tall as Maitimo and his hair is dark. He used to play his harp and sing at the king’s grand banquets. He is skilled on the harp and lute and had a golden voice…”

“Does he still sing for the king in the palace?”

“I should think not. It was the old king for whom he sang…”

“The one they say was killed when the Darkness came? Amme?” The tears came quickly now.  

“I am weary now and must rest. Go find your grandfather…” Obediently, the child wandered off.

_He had come to her then, after his father’s death – a broken, hollow elf. She had comforted him the only way she could as his wife. After the twins they had not come together thus. In that new uncertain world lit only by the stars, they had lain together and in her arms she felt his spirit stir and reawaken. They did not know that a tiny spark of life had been created between them that dark night._

* * *

 

The elfling was ignored by most of the grownups. They worked hard and long. More lamps needed to be forged to light the city and the roads. Wood needed to be gathered to fuel the forges and homes for both warmth and light. New devices needed to be created to track time in this endless night. Her grandfather and the other master smiths have been called on by a lord who was greater and finer than any she had ever seen.

“Ah, Mahtan, what have we here? Already you have her in your forge, perhaps one day she’d be as proud a smith as her sire and brothers…” the lord had laughed and ruffled her hair as she sat toying with a piece of cast-off iron. She was not allowed to work with the tools and glowing metal yet.

“Forgive me, Lord Aule, we would rather she not. Seeing as to where her father’s pride got us… Now, let’s look at those plans for the parts you require of us for these vessels…”

Her grandfather and the best smiths left their city for Lord Aule’s Mansions. Behind her grandmother’s skirts, she bade them farewell at the door. Her mother was awake when she slipped into her room after dinner.

“Please tell me some more about my brothers,” the elfling wheedled. Her mother smiled and beckoned her to come closer. Her voice was not as strong as it once was.

 “After Maitimo and Makalaure is Tyelkormo. He has fair hair like your grandmother. He is a bit wild and quick to temper. He likes the woods and has a soft spot for animals. He has a large wolfhound from Lord Orome…”

“Is it as big as grandfather’s hounds?”

“Nay, he was much larger. Huan is as big as a small horse. Your brother used to ride on his back when hunting. Carnistir is another one with a quick temper, although he is loyal to a fault. He used to help me about the house… See this blue patchwork cushion? Carnistir made it for his little brother Curufinwe…” 

The elf-woman let her voice trail off as she traced the worn stitches. Carnistir had mended it more than once. Maitimo gave it to Huan for a chew-toy once to keep him from devouring their dinner. Tyelkormo used it as a target for his spear practice to rile his little brother Curufinwe. The twins tore it apart during a game of tug-of-war as infants. Each time Carnistir would fly into a rage. When his temper cooled, he would patiently set about his repairs with needle and thread.   

“Amme?” her daughter asked as her tiny fingers traced the designs alongside her mother’s. Tears were falling on the faded cloth.

“Go to bed. It is late…”

The little girl gave her mother a peck on the cheek before hastening off to her own little cot. The flagstones of the hallway were punishing on bare feet. The fire had all but gone out in the hearth. There was not enough wood to keep it going.

The elfling crawled under the large kitchen table where the hounds were huddled together for warmth. Hounds were barred from the forge where the fire still burned. The apprentices still minded the forge in their mentor’s absence. Yawning, the child snuggled up against the mass of coarse fur and wet noses. The dogs sniffed in surprise at the newcomer but soon accepted her among them.

* * *

 

“Who is Curufinwe? The others will not tell…” the elfling asked as she looked up from the cushion she had been learning to sew on. She was older now, old enough to help about the house and sweep up at the workshop, but still not old enough to be told. Grandfather and the others had not yet returned. Her grandmother dropped the plate she had been washing.

“Here, take this to your mother and make sure she finishes it…” A cup of scalding tea was thrust into her small hands. She carefully made her way into the hall. Elf-hearing was sharp, more so the hearing of a curious child.

“Do you suppose she asks about her atar? How could she know?” the old nis who worked in the kitchens whispered. 

“Those gossipy neri in the workshop no doubt. Perhaps they meant her brother … the one who takes after his father,” her aunt snorted in disdain.

* * *

 

Her amil was awake. The tea was too hot to be drunk quickly. The elfling sat on the edge of the bed, her bare feet dangling above the cold floor, watching her take sip after dainty sip.

“Is Curufinwe my brother?” she asked innocently.

“Aye, he is your fifth brother. You look much like him at your age…” her mother cupped a baby cheek.

“Is he the one they say worked at the forge?”

“Aye, he has the most talent as a smith and craftsman among his brothers. Only Makalaure’s gift of song matches his talent as an artisan. You should see the fine pieces he turned out from his workshop, like that lamp…” the nis sipped at her tea.

“Are those all of my brothers?”

“Nay, there are two others… The Ambarussa… they are twins, with the same red hair and identical faces… Like their older brother Tyelkormo, they liked hunting in the wilds. Full of mischief they are…They were too young, far too young to have followed him in taking that Oath…”

“Him, amme? You mean atar? What is an Oath?”

The elf-woman did not speak. Tears glistened in her eyes.

“Tell me, please… Amme…” her daughter pleaded.

“Look out the window…” the mother urged. A pale vessel was rising from the west, bathing the land in silvery light.

“That is the light of Telperion, my child. We never thought we would see it again,” Nerdenal put down her tea and watched her youngest child marvel at the new source of light in the sky. The few children who had been born after the Darkening only knew starlight in the sky above, until now.

“Who is Telperion?”

“It’s a Tree, one of two which once graced this fair land… Let me tell you about Telperion and Laurelin…” Of course none of her kin had spoken to the child yet of the Light they had lost. She would tell her child about the Trees of Light, but leave the tale unfinished.

“What happened to the trees, Amme? Why did my brothers leave?”

“Sorry, little one, I am tired and must rest… another time perhaps…”

She will not speak of Feanaro or his Oath yet. Not to one so young.

She had almost lost this little one in her grief and sorrow. She had tried to bury her hurt and sorrow through her work at the forge. She had not known the new life within her existed until her father realised her apron was too snug on her frame. Few elflings were born after the Darkening. The grief and horror at losing the Light of the Trees affected all mothers-to-be and many miscarried. More elflings came too soon or too weak to survive. Her daughter was dearly bought. She had poured all the strength she could into her unborn child to ensure her survival.

She would leave for Lorien soon to heal. Her parents and siblings would care for her little one in her absence. It is almost a shame if her daughter were to lose her mother, having never known her father and most likely never will. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Quatumphysica for the idea of Caranthir having inherited Grandma Miriel's talent for needlework.


	2. Strangers in the Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olorin and Aiwendil encounter an elfling and teach her to speak with birds. What will birds tell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been encouraged to continue this fic by a plot bunny. Had a bit of a headache coming up with a name for the elfling as i don't want to keep referring to her as Feanor's daughter.

Amme had gone away to heal in a distant place, the grownups explained. She will see her amil again once she is well. Life continued on at the forge with Mahtan’s return, as it had ever since Mahtan first lit its fires. The youngest of his grandchildren helped out with the household chores. There was a small copse of trees beside a stream which ran behind the smithies. She would go there after her chores were done and lie down in the small glade nestled within. It was far enough for the noise from the forge not to scare the birds which nested over her head. The elfling was old enough to venture alone beyond the yard unattended, so long as she returned before dinner.

Sunlight bathed the elfling as she lay on the fragrant grass. _Laurelin’s light,_ her grandmother had called it. It was brighter than Teleperion’s flower, now called Isil. Her grandfather Mahtan had explained. The last fruit of Laurelin and the final flower of Telperion, ferried across the sky in two vessels Lord Aule and his smiths have crafted. The Vanyar called the new fiery orb Anar. It was warm, like the fires in the forge. If she stayed out in it too long, she would burn too, especially when the fiery orb is high in the sky above.

The trees and flowers which had slept during the darkness were now blossoming with new growth. The birds and other creatures of the woods were also waking from the sleep into which Yavanna had put them into for their protection.

The child giggled as a butterfly landed on her nose. Everything was new to her. The other day her aunt brought a basket of strange green things into the kitchen. They were sweet and crisp when eaten, unlike the mushy oatmeal and root vegetables they had been living on. They were called peas.

“Greetings, little one,” a voice called out. The elfling sat up and gaped at the tall elves before her. They reminded her of the fine lord who had hired the smiths to help craft the vessels. One was tall and stately in his grey robes. The other was shorter and his brown robes were coarse and worn.

“G-greetings, sirs…” she stammered, suddenly shy. The strangers laughed.

“Are you listening to the birds, little one?” Aiwendil held up his finger and a thrush alit upon it. He chirruped to the bird and the bird cocked its head listening before singing a reply.

“You talk to birds? What did it say?” the elfling asked.

“Oh, something about a little elfling who likes to hide here when there are chores to be done.”

“Aiwendil, stop teasing the child. Our feathered friend is telling us about his little wife and the eggs she is brooding,” Olorin stroked the thrush gently on the neck with a finger before the bird flitted back into the branches. “There will be three more little thrushes singing in this tree soon.”

“I am Olorin, and this is my good friend Aiwendil. What is your name, little one?” Olorin introduced himself with a bow. With a flourish, he produced a small posy of white flowers from his sleeve and offered it to the child.

“M-Mornel… Thank you, sir…” Mornel took the flowers from Olorin. They smelled of fresh mountain air and springtime.

“Do you wish to speak with the birds, Mornel?” Olorin asked.

“C-can I?”

“Nay, the little one already has enough speaking Quenya, what more the tongue of birds?” the other Maia protested. Olorin only nodded.

“Come on, we’ll teach you.”

* * *

 

The elfling learnt fast from the Maiar’s daily visits to the copse of trees. Within the sennight, she was chatting with the thrushes, robins and sparrows which nest in her little glade. It took a bit longer to speak with the ravens for they were proud birds with little time for a mere elfling. Finally one old raven agreed to speak with the elfling on the condition she brought a bit of cheese or bacon for him whenever she came.

“Please, Master Raven. Can you tell me anything about my father and brothers?” Mornel asked one day. The old bird cocked his head to the side and peered at the child with a beady eye. “He used to work here with Grandfather Mahtan while he was courting my amil…”

“Arck. Knew your father. You have the same strong chin and black hair. Same grey eyes too, but his were brighter. We don’t see that sort of light in the eyes of the young ones born now. Proud one he was. Gave his students hell if they don’t meet his standards. Caught the Light of the Trees in his pretty gems and locked them away in Formenos.”

“Where is Formenos?”

“Somewhere up north. Never been there myself but I heard from a cousin who heard from an eagle… More cheese?” the old raven cawed.

Mornel fed the bird more cheese from the palm of her hand. “Please, tell me about my brothers…”

“Your brother Tyelkormo talked to birds too, but he is an ill-mannered ner. He liked hunting, always tearing about the woods on his hound. Sometimes Carnistir and Curufinwe will join him. The little red-haired twins always hunt together. Maitimo rides with his cousin Findekano, but they don’t really hunt that much. More sightseeing, waste of time I say. Makalaure does not hunt, but his voice can turn those silly warblers green with envy.”

“I wish they did not have to go…” Mornel brushed a tear from her eye.

“Chin up, princess,” the raven cawed. “Better here than over the sea. Who would give this old bird his cheese and ham?”

“I am no princess,” the elfling replied as she offered the last of her cheese to the raven.

“Brave princess, don’t cry,” the bird nibbled on a lock of the elfling’s hair. Despite her age and gender, Mornel wore her hair cropped as short as a very small elfling or a young ner. Short hair was easier to manage around the house and forge. The grownups kept their hair long but tied up in braids or under headscarves.  

Unseen by bird and elf, Yavanna and Orome watched the exchange.

_Feanaro’s daughter. Where is her amil?_

_At Lorien healing. Her grandparents are quite overwhelmed as they are. Feanaro’s words have convinced a good many of Mahtan’s kin to follow him and many a forge lies cold._ Yavanna placed a hand on the trunk of a hazel and the tree bloomed with fluffy catkins.

_Does Arafinwe know about her? It is unseemly to have Finwe’s granddaughter sweeping floors._

_He’s just as overwhelmed as any other Noldo. Now that you mention it, it is unbecoming that she is not afforded the education given to her brothers and cousins._ Yavanna frowned. Her husband Aule had mentioned the child in passing to her. He had assumed that Mahtan would teach her to forge metal like he did for her father. Aule valued practical apprenticeship over academic scholarship any day. Her brothers had undergone their stint in the forge with only Maitimo and Curufinwe showing any aptitude for the craft.

Mahtan had not taught her even the basics of smith-work, content to let her sit in the forge or carry out household chores. Aiwendil had mentioned in passing that the child had scarcely any knowledge of the written word, a horrible oversight in her upbringing. True, it was important to save wood to be used for the forge and warmth during the time of the Darkening. Olorin had found that out when he brought a book on rare birds for the child. She was fascinated by the pictures within but ignored the accompanying rhymes. She managed to write out her own name in the dirt, after much instruction from Olorin. Even Yavanna could see a child her age should be in the schoolroom learning her letters. Of course, Aiwendil had not seen it that way.

 _There might be a reason for her kin to shield her. She is Feanaro’s daughter. And still a child._ Vana murmured. The Valar had not seen her approach. 

_She will find out eventually. Perhaps it is time Lord Manwe has a word with Arafinwe._ Orome shrugged. The Calaquendi had always held the education of their offspring in high regard. Even the lowliest servant would ensure their children were sent to the local schoolroom. Finwe had created a public school in Tirion where elflings were taught their letters, lore and arithmetic. Most would then leave for apprenticeship in their chosen craft under the masters.

The nobles were able to enlist private tutors for their children. The best loremasters taught the royal children in Tirion. Some of Feanaro’s sons did not complete the syllabus drawn up by Master Rumil. Tyelkormo and the twins were stifled in the schoolroom and would often disappear into the woods to avoid their lessons. Curufinwe dropped out midway through to be apprenticed at his father’s forge. Carnistir and Maitimo managed to drag themselves through their lessons but their fosterings at the Vanyarin and Telerin courts did not work out. Maitimo got into a romantic entanglement with a Teleri nis who was already betrothed to another while Carnistir came home in disgrace after fighting with the son of King Ingwe. Only Makalaure had truly thrived under the rigid royal syllabus but he was no leader. He was content to play the role of minstrel.

Oblivious to the Valar nearby, the elfling waved farewell to her avian companion and started to hum a little melody. She bent to pick the flowers which were in full bloom. A posy of flowers for the table always sweetened Grandmother’s mood. Her grandmother would be upset over the grass stains on her frock. It was getting too tight and short for her now but no one had time to make her a new one just yet. She would have to wipe the grass and dirt off her bare feet before going into the kitchen. Grandfather had promised her a pair of shoes from the market the next time he went, so that she need not go about barefoot. Perhaps they would be soft and red just like Grandmother’s slippers. Or they could be dark leather like her grandfather’s boots.

She would take the flowers to Grandmother before nipping into the forge to see if it needed to be swept again. Bath - a bucket of cold water, soap and a towel - came before sitting down to dinner. After dinner she would help scrub the pans before retiring to her cot. The household nissi rose early to draw water, light the fires and cook, well before sunrise, for the Valar had decreed that time be divided into days and nights. Arien will steer her vessel across the sky into the west and disappear from the sky for the time between dusk and dawn before rising in the east.

It was a comfortable rustic rhythm the elfling’s life took in her grandparents’ home. Little could she guess that her life was about to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel - dark daughter (?)
> 
> Ravens are said to be one of the smarter birds out there and their maximum recorded lifespan in captivity is 70-80 years. I took this to be a norm for Valinor-dwelling ravens as it is a Blessed Realm. In the wild, the standard is only 10-15 years with some reaching 20. The old raven might have seen quite a bit himself as well as learning things from his elders.


	3. The White City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel arrives in Tirion to live with her uncle. Perhaps she might learn more of her family.

At Lord Manwe’s suggestion, Arafinwe had written to Mahtan with regards to the guardianship and education of Mornel. The grandparents were glad that the House of Finwe acknowledged their little Mornel as one of theirs. Her royal uncle could provide for her far better than any smithy.

Olorin knew they had messed things up on a large scale. Of course the little maid would be terrified by the armoured guards which showed up to take her to Tirion. The guards were ceremonial of course but the elfling did not know that. By some quirk of fate, the convoy had arrived at the house some hours before Arien passed through the Gates of Morning, which explained the grim looks a bit. The other unfortunate reason being that Arafinwe had chosen neri who had children, siblings or parents under the Doom and were none too keen about escorting one of Feanaro’s bloodline. Well, to be fair, every Noldor household in Tirion had someone under the Doom.

There was the Noldor tradition to present the elfling to the populace of Tirion as a member of the royal House. Normally this would be a week-long event with royal envoys and gifts from the Teleri and Vanyar. There would be feasting and merrymaking galore. It normally occurred on the child’s twelfth begetting day, an age where most elflings were content to drowse in the arms of their adoring parents. They would have been accustomed to the guards, living in the shadow of the palace. Arafinwe probably wanted the entire thing over before his citizens were awake enough to get rowdy.

A good deal of crying, begging and fussing later, Mahtan managed to persuade his granddaughter to join Olorin in the coach. There was a mad scramble by the nissi to pack a light meal and the elfling’s few belongings. The escort was not expected that soon. Olorin was thankful Lady Vaire had provided Mornel with a tastefully embroidered tunic in lieu of one with the eight-pointed Star of her House. They were not expecting any cheers but it might make a good impression on her relations instead of turning up in one of her old dresses.

“Grandfather says I’m to go to Tirion to live with my uncle, the king, and learn to be a princess… because Lord Manwe says so…” Mornel sniffled.

“Tirion’s a lovely city, all white marble and…” Olorin ventured.

“I don’t want to leave Grandfather, or the forge, or the trees…”

“There, there, I am sure your uncle would let you visit your grandparents. Your amil will go live with you in Tirion when she recovers. Your parents had a house in the city near the smithies,” the Maia wiped a tear from the elfling’s cheek.

“My amil and atar lived in Tirion?” Mornel managed a weak smile, her interest piqued. “Can you tell me about the house, please?”

“Well, it was a fair-sized dwelling but your amil and atar used much of the space for their workshops…” For an hour or so, Olorin entertained his fellow passenger with anecdotes of everyday life in Tirion before the Darkening.

“W-what is Uncle Arafinwe like?” Mornel asked in a hushed tone when the tower of Tirion came into view. The elfling was fearful of what lay ahead.

“Your uncle is kindly and mild of temper. One would say he is the opposite of your atar Curufinwe Feanaro. Don’t worry. He will take good care of you…”

“That’s what Grandfather said…” Mornel slipped her tiny hand into the Maia’s.

* * *

 

The first rays of dawn painted the walls of the city a fiery orange as the procession entered the city gates. The silence struck even Olorin, who knew how few of the Noldor remained in Valinor. A tired nis beat a rug outside her house before retreating within as the procession approached. A small elfling chased a puppy down an alleyway. In the Great Square, the few remaining members of the House of Finwe and a much-diminished court awaited. Weary-looking guards milled about aimlessly.

Olorin gave his companion’s hand a reassuring squeeze. It was time to meet her family. Currently, the Finweans did not look very welcoming. Lady Findis had a decidedly sour look on her face and her foot tapped impatiently on the flagstones. Lady Anaire’s face was as dark as a storm cloud. King Arafinwe had a forced smile on his face as he welcomed his niece, but he avoided meeting her eyes.

“Welcome to Tirion, Lord Olorin. Welcome to your home, er…”

“Her name is Mornel,” Olorin volunteered as the elfling managed a shy curtsy. The Maia had given her a crash course in basic court manners between the city gate and the Square.

“Father-name or mother-name?” the crotchety scribe Rumil queried as his quill scraped on his tablet.

“Mother-name. Her atar was not around to bestow a name and tradition gives the honour of naming the child in such cases to her father’s closest kin,” Olorin smiled meaningfully at the king. Arafinwe coughed uncomfortably, clearly wishing he were elsewhere. If he were to name the child, it would be taken a sign of his acceptance of her into the family, something many were not quite ready for yet.

“I am sure that matter can wait, brother,” Findis answered curtly. Anaire had turned her back on the entire charade and was walking in the direction of the house she once shared with her husband.

The remainder of the party climbed up to the terrace overlooking the Square. Praises to the Valar were sung on behalf of the House of Finwe by the minstrels and loremasters.

“Citizens of Tirion, we present Lady Mornel of the House of Finwe through the House of Feanaro… “

The King of the Noldor started on the traditional speech meant to extol the virtues of the royal child’s parents. He froze upon realizing he was orating to an empty plaza. The people of Tirion were not keen of welcoming a child of Feanaro into their city and had made their displeasure known.

“Let us get out of the cold…” he muttered and dismissed his guards with a wave of his hand. Mornel had struck up a conversation with a saucy young sparrow which nested under the lip of the terrace’s parapet and was blissfully unaware her family had been snubbed by their subjects.

“Come along now, little one,” Olorin coaxed. He wished he could stay until the elfling was properly settled in but his other duties called. It would have been prudent for someone from Mahtan’s household to accompany Mornel during these early days but the smith’s household simply could not spare anyone. It will be a bewildering and confusing time for the child indeed.

“Don’t dawdle so…” Lady Findis snapped as she took the elfling by the arm and led her away.

* * *

 

A nurse was assigned to her, a nis who had overseen the care of Arafinwe’s own daughter. Nixelle took one look at the patched, worn garments Mornel brought with her and declared every single one should be burned save the one she wore. Artanis’ old clothes chest was tossed for suitable garments until a tailor could be sent for.

“Ai, you are a plain one. Perhaps we can do something when your hair grows out…” the nurse muttered.

She knew she ought to be kind to the child, who was innocent of father’s sins. It would be difficult, for she was Teleri through her mother and the Kinslaying still rankled. Nixelle could not help comparing her charges. Artanis was a beautiful child, regal and proud, with the most unusual gold-silver tresses. Mornel was a quiet, shy slip of a thing. She did not have her atar’s insufferable haughtiness although she had inherited his colouring. The child’s eyes lacked the light of those born before the Darkening. Her grey eyes reminded Nixelle of the very old elves born at Cuivienen and on the Great Journey when the light of the stars was all the light they knew.

Nixelle sighed. She would carry out her duties, ensure the child was fed and clothed but it was too much to expect her to love the fey creature the same way she had mothered Artanis.

* * *

 

Her room was too large and cold. It seemed to Mornel that her grandfather’s entire forge could have fitted in her new bed chamber. She had been shown the way to the royal baths for a quick wash to remove the dust of her journey before breakfast. For now she would take her meals in her rooms. Tomorrow she will be shown to the schoolroom where she will take her lessons. Her nurse instructed her not to wander about before taking an armful of clothes for altering and leaving her unattended in the room.

The elfling studied the tapestries and the furnishings of her room. They were beautiful but had little character of their own. She had been given a guestroom for her quarters, an anonymous room fit for a visiting lord or lady. Not the best ones in the palace with the open balconies overlooking the gardens though.

Mornel was used to sitting still and quiet but she soon grew curious and restless as the hours passed. _What're in the other rooms? Where's the kitchen? Did they have trees, flowers and running brooks?_ Surely a tiny peek would not hurt. She did need the privy after all and that was down the corridor…

Mornel was disappointed to find the most of the rooms along the hall much like hers, although with the furniture draped with sheets and the windows shuttered. Finally she came to the end of the corridor where a narrow door opened to a dim-lit flight of stairs. Her inquisitiveness won out and she followed the stairs up to what seemed to be an attic for stowing unused furnishings.

She was greeted by a humble loom, the faded rags of an unfinished tapestry on it. Mornel felt the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. There was an eerie aura of sorrow about the forgotten loom. The elfling leapt as a gust of wind blew the door shut behind her with a resounding bang.

She tried it but it was jammed. She was trapped in the attic unless she could find another exit. She navigated the maze of dusty furniture, chests and rolled up carpets until she came to a door which opened to another flight of stairs leading down.

She was in a different part of the house now. Mornel could see it from the portraits and tapestries along the corridor. They were more personal and intimate. Here a homely portrait of fair-haired boys at play. There a seascape rendered in silk. She paused before an oaken door behind which voices emitted.

_“Ara, I know it is the Valar’s wishes but surely…”_

_“Findis, I do not know anything about raising children alone, without Earwen… much less Feanaro’s daughter… Ai… but we cannot defy Lord Manwe…”_

_“I never had any elflings, Ara. So don’t ask me. She was doing well enough with Mahtan. Master Rumil can teach her letters and lore. Nixelle can handle her everyday needs. As for court etiquette, Anaire’s not agreeable. I must leave… Perhaps we can get Amarie…”_

Mornel silently crept away and ran down the corridor. She had heard quite enough. She must return…

The next moment, her breath was taken away by the most beautiful tapestry she had ever seen. The sprawling needlework depicted the first elves awaking at Cuivienen under the stars, then the menacing creatures of Darkness harassing them. Finally a rider on a mighty steed led the elves to the west, where the Two Trees stood stitched in gold and silver thread. Not all of the elves completed the journey. She could see the tiny figures of the elves that remained behind, hidden in caves or surrounded by trees.

For a long while she stared mesmerized by the tapestry.

“The Awakening of the Eldar and the Great Journey,” a soft male voice said from behind her. A hand rested reassuringly on her shoulder. Slowly Mornel turned and sucked in a breath with surprise. It was the king. He was gazing at the tapestry. She could see the weariness about his face. Arafinwe had changed out of his heavy formal robes for a casual tunic.

“Y-your Majesty…”

“Uncle will do. This tapestry was done by your grandmother Miriel Serinde. I trust you know the story of how our people came to Valinor?”

“Amme told me.”

“Did your amil ever speak to you of your brothers, or your atar?”

“She spoke to me of my brothers, but never of my atar.”

“Come along now, we will tell Nixelle you are to join us in the parlour for the midday meal.”

It was too easy to pretend she was Artanis, or any one of his elflings when they were very young, how easily her hand slipped into his. So long as Arafinwe avoided looking at her and seeing the shadow of her father’s features on her young face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly a good start to her life in Tirion. More Finwion style family dysfunction ahead. The Valar should have let things be. We probably can guess who that old loom belonged to.


	4. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel takes her first meal with her new guardians and starts her formal education under Master Rumil.

The diners helped themselves from the pitcher of cider and trays of bread, cheese and ham, pickles and fruit as they saw fit. Arafinwe had dismissed Nixelle and a haughty-looking ner from the parlour before the start of the meal, requesting a private meal with his sister and niece. The adults barely picked at their food unlike Mornel, who was ravenous from her morning’s explorations. There was little in the way of conversation.

It was an awkward lunch, Mornel would reflect later in the quiet of her room. However, it had given her more than ample opportunities to make her first impressions of her aunt and uncle. Lady Findis was a stern-looking nis, tall and fair of face, with dark hair. Uncle Arafinwe was fair-haired but his expression was as sombre as hers.

It was Findis who broke the silence first, to admonish her niece when Mornel reached to take a piece of cheese. “Use the serving fork, not your hands. No, not the one you eat with…” Flustered, Mornel stuttered an apology.

“I don’t suppose Mahtan or Nerdanel used serving cutlery at their home…” Arafinwe murmured as he took the serving fork and deposited several bite-sized cubes of cheese on Mornel’s plate. The elfling whispered her thanks.

For a while the grownups made small talk about the weather and the coming harvest. They had quite forgotten about the little elfling with them.

“Ara, you can’t possibly put this off…”

“Put what off?”

“Mending your marriage with Earwen. I hear from Anaire that you have not visited her since she returned to her father’s during the Darkening.”

“Findis, you were there. She refused to see me the last time I was in Alqualonde… Enough of me, how’s Amme?”

“The same. Uncle Ingwe has kept her rooms in his palace and she has moved back in as if she never left. She misses you though.”

“You know I can’t just leave the city. Send her my love when you go back to Taniquetil.”

“Amme is concerned about you and Earwen. She feels it is not proper or healthy that you continue to live as you do, for the sake of your children.”

“Our children are gone under the Doom. After what our dear brother Feanaro did to her people, who can blame her for wanting nothing to do with me?”

“W-what did atar do?” Mornel asked meekly. The siblings gasped as if suddenly aware they were not alone.

“Your atar…” Findis took a deep breath to steady herself before continuing. Arafinwe forestalled her.

“No, not now, Findis. Mornel, have you had enough to eat?” Arafinwe forced a smile. _No sense alarming the child with those dark deeds._ When the elfling cautiously nodded, the king rang for her nurse to take her back to her room.

* * *

 

Mornel rubbed her ear where an exasperated Nixelle had tweaked it after she had to search the guest wing for her charge before the child’s lessons. She was not to go wandering about the palace. She was not to venture onto the roof outside her window, never mind the family of chatty starlings there. She had taken both her supper and breakfast in her room under Nixelle’s watchful eye. It was when Nixelle took away the breakfast tray that she slipped out hoping to find more of those beautiful tapestries by Grandmother Miriel. She only got as far as the floor below before running into her nurse.

The schoolroom was bright and airy. It smelled faintly of ink and parchments. Sunlight poured in through a clear glass window and skylight. Nixelle hastily apologized to the dour elf behind the desk before sitting Mornel at a smaller desk facing Master Rumil.

“Well, we have lost half the morning already. So let us get the introductions done with. I am Rumil, loremaster and tutor of the House of… Mornel! Pay attention here!” Rumil snapped. His student was looking out the window and cooing at a flock of doves.

“S-sorry…  I was asking the doves about their…”

“Never mind the birds…” the long-suffering tutor felt the beginnings of a headache coming on.

 Master Rumil was no stranger to wayward students, especially those of Feanaro’s line. The boy who talked to birds, Tyelkormo, had once put a live porcupine under Rumil’s desk in place of his usual footstool. The tutor’s soft slippers were little protection against the quills.

Feanaro’s boys were a bad influence on Nolofinwe’s brood, Irisse in particular. The young nis had put a weasel into Rumil’s top drawer. Instead of his favourite humbugs, the poor ner had an angry weasel gnawing on his hand. To cap things off, the beast scampered up his voluminous sleeve into his robe and left its dental impressions on more delicate bits of his anatomy.

Arafinwe’s children were more dreamers than pranksters. They had spent the earlier part of their education in Alqualonde under their grandfather Olwe. Artanis was exceptionally prone to daydreaming. As soon as Master Rumil started his lecture, her eyes would take on a glazed look as if deep in reverie. Often her brothers had to nudge her awake.

“Now, I understand that you have yet to master the alphabet. So let’s start…” Rumil droned on.

His current student was older than most elflings when they were first introduced to the written word. During the Great Journey, he had created the first writing system. The younger elflings picked up the system quickly, their older siblings and parents less readily. Finwe took forever to finally master the runes. Rumours had it that the oldest Vanyar elves like Imin refused to have anything to do with reading or writing. Of course, Ingwe would never admit that of his people. The Teleri found that the runes did not adequately express the colour of their tongue. A valid concern as Rumil later found that the Teleri dialect differed from the standard Quenya used by the Vanyar and Noldor.

Rumil looked up from his work to see his student struggling with her chalk and slate. He had assigned a writing practice so that he could get back to the annals he had been writing. At a glance it was hard to tell Mornel’s gender with her cropped hair and the shapeless smock her nurse had put her in. It was probably one of Artanis’, taken in at the hems and waist. Mornel was small for her age. She would never tower over him as Nelyafinwe and Turukano did by the time they were adolescents.  

The child chewed on a corner of her lip as she concentrated on forming the letters. For a moment, the loremaster was reminded of another young elf.

_“Go out, get some air… join your family on their picnic…” Rumil smiled indulgently at his star pupil._

_“I don’t want to,” Feanaro replied as he continued putting quill to parchment. “It could be better… It can be improved…”_

_“What can be improved?”_

_“Our writing system of course…” Within a decade of their conversation, a proud Feanaro presented his new Tengwar script before his father’s court. Finwe was so impressed he made the new system the official system for all records in the realm of the Noldor._

The new system took off rapidly across Aman. The older texts were translated to the new writing. Now few documents existed in the older writing, even in the vast archives of Tirion which he oversaw. In some part of his heart, Rumil resented his student rendering his greatest achievement irrelevant.

Of course, Feanaro’s attitude as a father about his sons’ conduct in the schoolroom left much to be desired. He did little in the way of reining in the wildest of his brood. “Boys will be boys,” he had chuckled when his former master complained about the latest prank suffered. Sensible Nelyafinwe and mild-mannered Kanafinwe tried to set a good example, but they were no match for their younger siblings and Nolofinwion cousins. Findekano and Turukano did settle down eventually, but Arakano and Irisse continued to be wild and unmanageable into their late adolescence.

 _Meek. Too meek._ There was none of her brothers’ wildness in Mornel. She seemed to have her atar’s stubborn intensity when confronted with a task. Satisfied with her work, she finally put down both chalk and slate.

“Hm, you need more practice. The curve here is too high and this rune is not correctly written…” Rumil proceeded to point out the mistakes in the script. Hopefully, he would be able to teach this elfling with no fear of being ambushed by weasels or porcupines.

* * *

 

It would be two weeks before Arafinwe found time to speak with Rumil over his niece’s schooling.

“Any porcupines or weasels, Master Rumil?” The pranks the grandchildren of Finwe subjected poor Rumil to had gone down in Tirion legend. “No pranks or such… but I fear…” the old loremaster paused. “She is a quiet one. Perhaps she started schooling too late… it would appear she is a little, well, simple…”

“Simple, how so?” Arafinwe’s brow furrowed with concern. They had seen it with the few surviving elflings born during the Darkening. Healers claimed it was a result of the upheaval their mothers were subjected to. They developed slower, both mentally and physically. Save for Mornel, they were sent to Lorien by their parents where they still lingered.

Even now in the Years of the Sun, there were noticeable differences. The children born now lacked the same light in their eyes as their parents born in the Years of the Trees. Many claimed such elflings were slower and not as robust, even among the Vanyar who had dwelled closest to the Valar’s Mansions.

“Well, she daydreams a lot…”

“You said the same of my Artanis.”

“Forgive me, my lord. She speaks with birds…”

“As did Tyelkormo…”

“She would write a bit, read a bit, then fill her slate or book with doodles.”

“Master Rumil! One might think you miss the weasels. She’s acting like any other bored student.”

“Bored? My lessons are never boring!” the loremaster protested. Arafinwe chanced to glance out the window and glimpsed his niece unattended in the palace rose garden, apparently having a discussion with a warbler. The elfling scampered up an orange tree to peer into the warbler’s nest with delight.  

 _No, Mornel was not simple. A bit fey perhaps, expected given her lineage._ He had encountered her on occasion admiring the tapestries and paintings in the corridors before her nurse hurried her off to bed or the baths. Perhaps it was time for him to start dining with his niece instead of taking his meals in his office, as he had done since his sister left Tirion.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arafinwe is trying his best to act as the responsible guardian, despite having problems of his own to worry about. I have made the Feanorions and Nolofinwions as real terrors to poor Rumil. I picture him like one of those stern professors. As to Findis, I pictured her as a very prim and proper spinster aunt, gruff but she will warm up eventually.


	5. The House of Finwe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel is settling into her new life and Arafinwe finds himself warming up to his niece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Arafinwe finally relents and tells Mornel a little of their family.

Dinner came to an abrupt end with the clatter of a dropped fork and a hysterical elfling fleeing the room. Up till Mornel’s outburst, all had been peaceful. It took a while to coax Mornel out of her shell, but soon she was relating what she had learned in the schoolroom, her friends the birds and the book of little elflings’ tales Lord Olorin sent, all with the same quiet enthusiasm as young Findarato had spoken of his music lessons. Arafinwe was glad to note that Mornel was not suffering from any homesickness and was eating heartily as any elfling her age should. He did not bother to correct her when she sucked the rich gravy off her fingertips. Findis would have had a fit. It had been the most innocent of comments which had set it off.

“Uncle, this meat pie is delicious. What is in it?”

“Why, this is Mistress Faniel’s famous pigeon pie…” The elfling’s eyes widened at his words and what little colour she had in her cheeks fled.

Arafinwe chided himself as he went after her. He should have been more aware. _Had the child not counted the inhabitants of the palace dovecote among her friends?_ A major faux pas that was on par to serving swan to a Telerin elf. Earwen’s people held the swan in high regard. Surely the kitchen elves would have noted her visits to the dovecote and her fondness for the birds there? He might have to speak with the cook tomorrow.

He found his niece retching in the privy, sobbing and shaking like a leaf. He rubbed her back in small circular motions as he did once for his Aikanaro when he took too much wine as a child and was sick from it. 

“There, there… I will ask that pigeons not be served at our table again…” Arafinwe coaxed as he cleaned her face and hands. He wondered if he should extend the ban to chickens and other fowl. The child hiccupped and allowed the king to lead her back to the dining hall, where thankfully, the offending dishes have been cleared.

Mornel did not touch the berries and cream for her dessert. She rolled the fruits listlessly in the cream as her nurse watched on with disapproval. _Good elflings don’t play with their food._ Arafinwe could recall his mother’s voice chiding.

“Nixelle, we wish to sit up for a while. You will be sent for when Mornel’s ready for bed.” Nixelle dropped a curtsey before leaving them.

“How are you feeling?” Mornel did not shy away when he brushed a stray lock of dark hair from her face. He had gotten used to seeing the shadow of his half-brother in the child’s vulnerable features. She could have been anyone’s daughter, another elfling who should be protected and nurtured until she was old and wise enough to strike out on her own.

“B-better,” Mornel whispered. “I should be going back to Nixelle now, Uncle…” She sounded so serious. She was still upset. Arafinwe ordered a soothing mug of warmed milk with honey to be brought to them in his study.

* * *

 

Lord Manwe had mentioned that it would be proper to tell his charge of her father’s people. His sister’s letter that morning reminded the king of the task he had yet to carry out. Findis also wrote that Miriel Serinde had returned from Mandos’ Halls but had dedicated her immortal life to weaving in Vaire’s Hall. His eldest sister was considering dedicating herself to Este’s service as a healer in Lorien. Arafinwe did not know when or if his sister would return to the city. Many of the Eldar who chose to serve the Valar Irmo and Este remained in Lorien for centuries.

“Come, it is time for you to learn about our family,” Arafinwe took his niece’s hand in his and led her to his study. He found the scroll he was looking for and unrolled it on his table. He winced when he realised that the last time it was updated was when his first grandchild Artaresto was born.

Mornel’s name had yet to be added to the family tree. The names of the wives of her brothers Makalaure, Carnistir, and Curufinwe were also missing in accordance with some obscure custom among the old nobility which required common-born wives to be recorded only after they have provided their noble husbands with a child. Turukano wedded the daughter of a Vanyarin lord and Elenwe’s name was added shortly after the binding rites. The same could be said for his law-daughter Eldalote, who still lived in the city with her parents. She had turned back with her law-father, sickened by the kinslaying. It was only upon arriving in Tirion that she realised her son was not with them.

Carnistir’s wife still lived in Tirion. She was not too taken by her husband’s decision to take the Oath and defy the Valar. Eyewitnesses claimed the couple had parted on harsh terms with Carnistir unceremoniously chased out of her workshop. Makalaure’s wife was Telerin and she might still dwell in Alqualonde. It was unthinkable that she would have sailed with her husband on the blood of her slain kin. Curufinwe’s followed him into Exile.

“N-Nerdanel…” the elfling’s keen eyes alit on her mother’s name. A pale finger traced the line to her father’s name. “Curufinwe Feanaro…”

The finger traced up the tree. “Finwe, N-Noldoran… He is…” Wide grey eyes looked up at Arafinwe’s bright blue ones.  It was time to tell their story.

“Yes, your grandfather was King of the Noldor, Finwe, who led our people to Aman. He loved and married Miriel Serinde, your grandmother. Miriel was a skilled craftswoman, renowned for her weaving and needlework… You have seen her tapestries in the palace.”

“Where are they? Grandfather Finwe and Grandmother Miriel?”

“They died and their fear went to Mandos.”

“W-will we see them again?”

“Someday, perhaps…” Arafinwe doubted Miriel would want to be bothered at her work. Noldorin craftspeople were renowned for their dedication to their chosen craft. Feanaro and Nerdanel had left much of their little ones’ care to Maitimo and Makalaure as soon as the boys were old enough. It was not uncommon to see the redhead holding a twin in each arm while Curufinwe and Carnistir ran circles about him. His parents would be tinkering away in their workshops.

“After Miriel went to Mandos…”

“How did she die?”

“Well, she got very tired after she had your father. Your grandfather took her to Lorien but she did not recover…”

“She went to Lorien to get better like my amil? W-will amme die too?” the elfling’s lip quivered. Arafinwe pulled her into his arms for a reassuring hug.

“No, I don’t think so… Your amil is strong and the Valar will help her heal.” The king felt the child in his arms give a hesitant nod. Quickly, he continued.

“Your grandfather loved Miriel Serinde very much and missed her greatly. But she was too tired and died. She went to Mandos where she remained for a very long time. Finwe loved her and their son Feanaro, but he was very lonely…” Arafinwe paused as a serving nis brought Mornel her milk. He allowed the child to take a sip before continuing.

“So Finwe went to the Valar to ask that their bond be dissolved and he be allowed to take another wife.” Arafinwe ruefully thought to himself that he sounded as if he were telling a bedtime story to his elflings, one to which they had no ties to. “Your grandfather had fallen in love with another nis, Indis of the Vanyar and sister to the High King.” It felt odd speaking of his uncle and amil thus.

“The Valar agreed as Miriel had no desire to return from Mandos in her weariness. You must understand that just because Finwe loved Indis, he did not love your grandmother any less. He still loved his first wife.” Arafinwe paused for breath before continuing. “Indis bore Finwe four children – your aunt Findis, my brother Nolofinwe and sister Lalwen, who followed your atar to the Hither Shores.” _They might be in Mandos too._ Arafinwe left the words unspoken. The Helcaraxre was a place of great peril. None knew the fates of those who had attempted the journey under Nolofinwe’s banner.

Instead, the king cast his mind back to his childhood and the halcyon days of innocence he shared with his siblings. Family picnics, grand banquets and quiet hours spent in Indis’ chambers listening to their mother sing.

“Do you miss them? Aunt Lalwen and Uncle Nolofinwe?”

Arafinwe nodded, for the words caught in his throat. He was vaguely aware of a small hand on his, a gesture of sympathy.

 “Uncle, you never mentioned my atar in your stories…” the elfling on his lap yawned and rubbed her eyes. Arafinwe glanced at the clock. It was far later into the night than he expected. Nixelle must be furious. She had often rebuked Artanis and her brothers as elflings when they missed their bedtimes.

“Another night perhaps…” he rolled up the scroll and kept it away. The king took his niece back to her room where Nixelle was impatiently waiting.

* * *

 

_Master Rumil says I must keep a journal and practice my writing. This is the first day of the journal. The ravens told me Old Master Raven has died because he is too old and tired. They say his fea will pass through Mandos and beyond the circles of the world. I will miss him. They also say Grandmother Miriel has returned to life. Maybe I can go meet her. Uncle told me more stories from when he was little. He told me a bit about my brother Makalaure. My brother sang with our cousin Findarato for Grandfather Finwe at the Festival. I wish Uncle could tell me more about my atar. Uncle looks so sad when he tells me of my cousins. I wish…_

The elfling paused. She had finally mastered reading and writing, and multiplications. She had learnt by heart the lore of her people’s awakening and their journey to Aman. She trembled at some of the dangers which menaced her forebears en route and wondered if her atar and brothers had to face the same hazards over the sea. Master Rumil was strict as a tutor but he was a very wise elf. She was also given a little harp and promised a music teacher. For now she took informal music lessons under her uncle whenever his duties allowed. Nixelle and the other servants kept their distance, leaving her to her own devices. Then there was Amarie. 

Amarie was Vanya, a very pretty nis with long golden hair. Mornel was to learn the rules and protocols of the Noldorin court under her. There were so many but she had to master them all before she could be allowed to attend official functions with her uncle. There had been banquets held for visiting envoys and a few receptions. On such occasions, Mornel would dine in her room alone under the watchful eye of her nurse. Music. She might have to entertain the king’s guests with songs, as her brother and her cousin Findarato had done. Amarie’s eyes took on a faraway look when speaking of Findarato. Maybe Amarie loves Findarato.

_I wish he would smile more often, like when he teaches me on the harp and I do well. I like Amarie. She’s like a big sister to me and it makes learning all the rules easier. I miss Grandfather Mahtan. Uncle says I can go stay with them for a sennight. He says I am still too young to travel alone so …_

She yawned and the quill slipped, blotting the page. She was tired.

“Sir! You cannot simply barge in…”

Mornel hurriedly put aside her quill. That gruff voice could only belong to…

“Nonsense, the king has given me permission. I am not leaving till I have seen her. How’s my little Mornel?” the voice boomed. Mahtan strode into her room.

“Grandpa!” Mornel ran into his open arms and was hoisted up in a bear hug by the smith. 

“How much you have grown!” the smith lifted his grandchild into the air and spun her around to excited squeals from the little girl. As she spun, her outstretched foot clipped a ceramic vase. It fell onto the floor with a crash. Nixelle shook her head in disapproval. At his age, Mahtan should not be behaving like an overgrown child. It was a mess she would have to clear quickly lest the elfling cut her bare feet on the shards. 

“Oops…” Mahtan put Mornel down away from the broken shards and scratched his head awkwardly as he apologised.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have chosen the version of Arafinwe's family tree which has Orodreth (Artaresto) as his grandson by Angarato. I have omitted the names of Mornel's law-sisters as well and chosen to have Celebrimbor born in Beleriand instead of Aman.


	6. The Golden Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two old elves let their guards down around an elfling and speak of their top student.

Mahtan was spending a few days in the city for a guild meeting. Arafinwe had kindly offered him a room in the guest wing but the smith graciously turned down the offer. He had a number of apprentices housed at Smith’s Arms and one should keep an eye on those imps lest they get into mischief. Instead, he was granted leave to visit his granddaughter during his stay.

One afternoon found both master smith Mahtan and loremaster Rumil on the terrace overlooking the rose gardens where Mornel was taking her lessons under Amarie. Today, the Vanyarin nis was teaching the elfling a simple court dance and the attendant protocols. There were rules a high-born nis had to observe at any reception, such as the upcoming festival. Judging from the giggles, Mornel was enjoying herself immensely. Amarie was a welcome change from the sombre nurse who was Mornel’s primary caregiver in Tirion.

“Rumil, I trust my granddaughter has not been any trouble?” Mahtan took a swig from his wine skin.

“None at all, Mahtan…” the loremaster chuckled as he sipped at his wine. The weather was pleasant and the air sweet with the scent of roses and birdsong. “She is an earnest student, much like her atar…”

“Aye, you loved that boy like a son, didn’t you?” Mahtan murmured as he placed a calloused hand on the loremaster’s slight shoulder. The shadow which drifted past the tutor’s face did not go unnoticed by the smith. They had made the journey together so many yeni past. Rumil never married and his parents chose to remain behind as Avari. There was a brother who was taken by the Black Rider, just as Mahtan’s own parents and a sister was lost. Despite their differing interests, the neri shared a bond in their common loss.

“She lacks his brilliance, and thankfully, his pride and temper,” Rumil smiled ruefully. “I doubt I will ever see a student the likes of Feanaro. He rendered my best work outdated with his Tengwar script.”

“Perhaps that is the way of things - the student besting his master… We taught him all that we knew of our crafts. He swept my little Nerdanel off her feet within a week of his apprenticeship…”

“I was surprised you didn’t send him back…”

“And risk Nerdanel’s wrath and tears? They were so young then. They had some foolish idea about running off into the woods together…”

“Young love…” Rumil grinned. “They were the talk of Tirion when they wed.” The scandal it had caused was immense. Both parties were barely into their majority. Feanaro was Crown Prince but his beloved was common-born. Mahtan was no nobleman. “Curufinwe managed to sway the entire court with his impassionate speech… He always had a way with words…” Rumil said wistfully.

“You taught him how, my friend.” 

“And you taught him how to craft metal and gems…”

“The Silmarilli… I wish he had not crafted those stones…”

“What did my father craft?” a tiny voice piped. Mahtan dropped his wine skin. Mornel stared curiously at her elders with her grey eyes. The elfling had climbed onto the terrace. In the garden below, Amarie was speaking with Arafinwe and thus distracted from her charge. Rumil exchanged looks with Mahtan. They would have to tell her eventually.

“Curufinwe Feanaro, your father was the best student I ever taught. Do you know he created the Tengwar script we all now use?”

“Atar created writing?”

“Not quite,” Mahtan corrected. “It was Master Rumil who created the first form of writing for the Quendi.”

“Really? But we only used the Tengwar script in the books I read.”

“Aye, because your atar’s system suited our tongue and the Teleri dialects better. He took what he learned and improved on it,” Rumil’s voice was touched with pride as he spoke of his student. “I have a small portrait of him hanging in my quarters. We should find a place for it in the schoolroom, eh?”

The elfling nodded eagerly. She had not seen any portraits of her father in the palace in all her wanderings. She had seen her grandparents’ portraits, Miriel and Finwe. There were family portraits of Finwe and Grandmother Indis with their elflings. Uncle Arafinwe had decorated his rooms with beautiful portraits of his wife and children. There were even a few of his many nephews and niece Irisse, but never had Mornel seen a likeness of her father within the palace.

“I wish I were as clever as he…” Mornel whispered in awe.

“You are young still, child. There is much time for you to grow,” Mahtan patted her head with a calloused hand. “And most of your brothers and cousins weren’t into book-learning… Tell her about the skunk, Rumil.”

The loremaster rolled his eyes. Mahtan should not be giving Mornel ideas for pranks. Hesitantly, he related the episode when the Ambarussa trapped him in a closet with a skunk so that they could run off to the market fair instead of learning algebra. That was also the day of the Loremasters’ Annual Banquet.

“Poor Master Rumil, did you get rid of the smell in time for the banquet?”

“Alas, no. I had to burn the robe I was wearing and spend the night steeping in the bath to get rid of the smell. On the bright side, it was the first time I had the common baths all to myself,” the loremaster grinned at the memory of the guards, stable-lads and menservants of the palace fleeing the normally-packed baths when he strolled in that night.

“Grandfather, what are the Silmarilli?”

“Your atar’s masterpiece…” the words slipped out of Mahtan in an unguarded moment before Rumil dug a bony elbow into his side and he clammed up.

“Those gems Old Master Raven told me about - the ones with the Light of the Trees? The same ones he took to north to Formenos? Please, Grandfather, please tell me more about them…” the elfling tugged at his sleeve gently. The smith only shook his head. _Not now, not yet._

Mornel pleaded with her eyes, her tiny fingers gripping at the coarse cloth of Mahtan’s sleeve. Thankfully, Amarie came up the stairs to the terrace.

“Mornel! There you are. Come, child, the dressmaker is here to measure you for a dress…”

The neri watched as the nis took the elfling and led her indoors where the dressmaker no doubt waited.

“You tell her or me?” Rumil asked.

“Better you than me. You have that portrait of Feanaro to show her, don’t you? Hope that will be enough to sate her curiosity…”

“How’s Nerdanel?”

“Recovering, so Lord Olorin says, but she is weary with her grief… There are whispers from Manwe’s eagles about things over the sea. They say Maitimo has been maimed and Feanaro dead. Only one of the twins has been sighted, they do not know which…” Mahtan corked his wineskin and set it aside. He had quite enough.

“Is it better to know or not to? I spoke with Lady Anaire the other day. She has no inkling of what’s happening to her lord and children. She is bitter still, at the Finwions – Feanaro for stirring up the rebellion, Nolofinwe and their children for deserting her…”

“Arafinwe?”

“For daring to come back to Tirion after the whole debacle. Peace, the Noldoran has enough grief of his own. His children are also under the Doom. Lady Earwen still lingers in Alqualonde. She lost her brothers in the Kinslaying…” There followed an awkward silence.

“Both her parents were talented craftsmen, and Lady Miriel too… yet I dread the day that elfling will pick up a craft. My daughter almost named her Moriel, but it sounded too close to her ill-fated grandmother’s name. It seems wrong, but we wish she will never shine as brightly as her grandmother, parents, or brothers. The time grows late… I promised Master Luarano I would join him for a meal.”

“As always, you sell yourself short, Master Smith… Come let me walk you to the gate…” Both elves strolled off.

* * *

 

“That’s my atar?”

“Yes, painted when he was barely older than you are…” Rumil stood back to admire his work. The small portrait sat just right tucked between a celestial star chart and a small needlework piece of the Eldar king and his consort Varda. The sampler was one of Miriel’s, done towards her due date when her unborn son had been difficult, as she put it. It was still beautiful despite the simplicity of it.

Mornel had to stand on a stool to peer at the painting. It showed a gangly boy with longish hair intensely poring over a scroll which spilled over the edge of the table and onto the floor. His features had yet to lose the softness of childhood. Even at that tender age, Feanaro had a sense of presence which could not be denied. It seemed that the boy might just step out of his tiny picture frame.

“He’s a handsome one even then. It’s no wonder your amil fell for him…” Rumil sucked his thumb to soothe the ache from having hit it with the hammer earlier. He should have left the nail to a servant but he did not wish for anyone else to handle the precious portrait of his student.

“Was my atar a good student at Grandfather Mahtan’s too?”

“Aye, I’m sure he was. When your grandfather taught him all that he knew, your atar wanted to learn more, so he left the city to be apprenticed to Lord Aule the Vala,” the loremaster flipped open a large volume to show a picture of Aule in his lordly splendour to his student.

“He visited my grandfather once, during the Dark-time. He took my grandfather and the other smiths with him to work on the vessels of the sun and moon. Will you tell me of the Silmarilli Atar made, please? Were they as brilliant as Anar and Isil?”

“Ah, look at the time… Mornel, take out your star chart. We must memorize the constellations…” Rumil bustled about his desk. His student readily obeyed, unfurling her star chart.

* * *

 

_ Mornel’s journal _

_Today I learned about the stars Lady Varda put in the sky. I also learnt about the other Valar, including Lord Irmo who oversees Lorien where Amme is. I wish Master Rumil, Grandfather or Uncle will tell me about Atar. Uncle told me about my law-sister, wife to Morifinwe Carnistir. She runs the dyeworks outside the city._

_I have yet to go to the market or outside the palace. Amarie promised she will seek Uncle’s permission to take me out to the market after the Festival. Mayhaps I can visit my law-sister then. Amarie tells me the Festival will be great fun. There will be plenty of feasting, music and dancing. They say Lord Olorin will attend the banquet, as will Grandmother Indis and Aunt Findis. The princes of the Vanyar might also visit._

_Lady Eldalote came to help with the Festival preparations. She brought many silk banners for the Grand Hall. Aunt Anaire came to help too. I could not help them because I had to try on my new dress. It is such a pretty silver colour but it is so much longer than my other dresses. I fear I may trip. I asked Mistress Lannelote if we can make it shorter but she says I am too old to be baring my ankles like an infant._

If she were to be honest, Mornel did not like Lady Anaire much. She remembered her from her first day in the city. Anaire was proud and there was a heavy air of bitterness about her like a stifling cloak. Eldalote was a pale, slender nis with a musical voice tinged with a hint of sadness. She kept chattering about the decorations and busying herself with numerous activities as if to keep from being left alone with her thoughts. Mornel thought the constant smile Eldalote wore never reached her eyes. Perhaps she missed her husband and son more than she would admit.

For now, there was the festival to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel is slowly learning a bit more about her family, but no one has the heart to tell her about Feanaro's actions during the Darkening and the Silmarilli.


	7. Festival of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the festival draws near, Mornel affirms her friendship with Amarie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of clarification – Mornel’s age is equivalent to an 8-10 year old human child, perhaps more a very sheltered 10 year old. To be honest, in the Silmarillion, it may have been up to 50 years of the Sun or more between the Noldor’s Rebellion and the Rising of the Sun. Possibly more than enough time for an elfling to reach adulthood. However, for the purposes of this fic, I have shortened the time of the Darkening to have Mornel questioning others about her father from the viewpoint of a child.

The Vanyarin entourage arrived at the palace the day before the festival. The herald came to announce the arrival of Lady Indis and her daughter Findis before the nissi entered the parlour where Arafinwe was teaching his niece the harp. Mornel greeted the pair with a curtsey. A look of surprise flashed in Indis’ eyes before Nixelle ushered her ward from the room to allow the Noldoran privacy to speak with his mother and sister.

“She is so much like Feanaro in her colouring, but her eyes are definitely Miriel’s,” Indis remarked as she took the goblet of chilled cider offered to her by her son. “What’s this? Findarato’s old harp?” the dowager queen picked up the elfling’s abandoned harp.

“It’s only fitting…” Arafinwe shrugged.

“She is not Artanis or Findarato… Don’t get too fond of her, brother,” Lady Findis sniffed. 

“Look,” Arafinwe took the small harp from his mother and pointed at a barely discernible carving of an eight-pointed star on it -the crest of Feanaro’s house. “This was Makalaure’s harp before he outgrew it and gave it to little Findarato. It was lying on the shelf gathering dust, so I had it re-strung for Mornel. She is a princess of my father’s house, and has the right to be educated as one. After the festival, we should look at finding her a suitable pony…”

“Will you send her to be fostered and trained in court matters at King Olwe’s or your uncle’s court when she’s older?” Indis asked.

“Perhaps…” Arafinwe’s brow furrowed. He had a scheduled visit to his law-parents’ realm in the spring. _Should he bring his niece? Or would her presence bring back painful memories for King Olwe?_ The last time the Feanarions were in Alqualonde was during the Kinslaying. Perhaps it would be more prudent to leave Mornel in Tirion or send her to Mahtan’s.

“Ara, I see you have kept their rooms untouched…” Indis added. “The child stays in the guest wing despite…”

“I know, amme. But I wish they would come back one day… perhaps the Valar can be moved to lift the Doom and Earwen will return for the sake of our children,” Arafinwe put down the harp. Her son had yet to move on completely after losing both his children and wife. Findis has spoken often of the pall over the private chambers of the royal family. Everything in her grandchildren’s rooms had been left as they were on the day they had departed from Tirion. The rooms he shared with his wife had been left unaltered since her departure. One speculated if Anaire kept her family home in a similar stasis. Until Indis’ departure from Tirion, the Noldoran had spent his hours of reverie in his office. It was only recently that he had started using the rooms once occupied by his parents.

* * *

 

_The City Festival is the celebration of the Eldar’s arrival in Tirion. Master Rumil and Amarie explained it to me. Only the elves who lived in the city of Tirion and the outskirts participated in the festival. It was held every yeni. This is the first time it would be held after the Darkening of Valinor. The tower overlooking the city was built by King Ingwe, High King of the Elves. The Vanyar were the first to settle here before they moved to Valmar, under the shadow of Taniquetil. The festival is also a celebration of the friendship between the Vanyar and Noldor. Some call it the Festival of Friendship, back when both King Ingwe and his court still lived in the city. They revived the old name during the time Queen Indis was married to King Finwe._

_Grandmother Indis is so very pretty, but she doesn’t hug me like Grandfather Mahtan. Aunt Findis said that I danced quite well when Amarie asked me to show them what I had learnt.  I helped Lady Eldalote with the flowers for the hall. She said my cousin used to help her with the festival preparations… I am so excited I do not know if I can find reverie tonight. Amarie is staying over to help with the last minute preparations for the morning ceremonies. She is given the room next door so that she need not journey across town to the house where she lives with a cousin._

The elfling yawned. She had stayed up long past her reverie. Nixelle had gone off after readying her charge for bed to make her own preparations for the festival. She had been granted the day off and was looking forward to spending time with her family and friends. Satisfied with her journal entry, Mornel put away her quill and climbed into bed. Just as she was drifting off into reverie, a sound roused her.

Someone was crying in the next room. _Amarie._ The elfling slipped out from under her blanket. On bare feet, she stepped out of her room. She quietly shut the door behind her. She took a deep breath before tapping on the door. “Amarie, are you alright?” There was a sniffling sound before the door swung inwards.

“I am fine, Mornel. Did I wake you? I’m so sorry…”

“I could not rest. Too excited about tomorrow. May I sit with you a while?” Mornel said. It was true that she would not be able to find reverie knowing Amarie was crying in the next room. She had been looking forward to the festival. _She had not lied,_ she insisted to herself. Lying was bad, her aunt had taught her that back at the smithy. However, she had already learned that words could be used to skip over facts like the adults about her did every time she tried to bring up her atar’s actions during the Darkening.

“S-sure…” Amarie dabbed at her cheeks with a billowing sleeve to wipe away the tell-tale tears. Mornel allowed herself to be led into the room and seated on the bed next to Amarie. The settee was still hidden under the dustsheets. Only the bed and a dresser had been prepared for Amarie’s short overnight stay.

“You were crying. I heard you… Is it because of him?” Mornel took Amarie’s hand in hers and stroked it the way her amil did with her every time she had spoken of her absent brothers to Mornel. The elfling did not understand why but the contact soothed her, just as her Uncle’s hand upon her shoulder did when they pored over the family tree and annals. She did not understand yet that it was the common bond of blood, however minute, that she was responding to in her kin’s touch.

“I shouldn’t… I miss him so much!”

“Cousin Findarato?” Mornel ventured. Amarie nodded in reply and burst into tears. Mornel did not hesitate but hugged the weeping nis until the tears slowed.

“I thought it would be fine for me to come back here, but the memories are too much… This wing was once used by the queen’s ladies… We met at the festival for the first time. My atto sent me to serve Lady Indis, as well as to seek out a suitable spouse among the Noldor in Tirion. Most of the Vanyar are too closely tied by blood to be considered suitable, since there were so few of us in the beginning. I was so alone then, and the youngest among the queen’s ladies, when I met him at the festival. He had returned from a long sojourn with his mother’s people. He’s so kind and sweet… I almost wish I had followed him like Lady Elenwe followed her husband… but my parents would have been horrified by the scandal. We may be betrothed but we had not bound…”

“I am glad you stayed, Amarie. We would not have met otherwise,” Mornel coaxed. “There are many who have bound but remained. Aunt Anaire, Lady Eldalote, my law-sisters, even my Amme…” To venture further than the mountains of Pelori in the west and the sea off Alqualonde in the east was forbidden to them, as were the lands in the east from whence they had come. Yet her father and his followers had defied the Ban and were exiled for it. Uncle Arafinwe had skipped over much of the events which led to the Noldor’s flight. It had something to do with the old king’s death and the Trees withering. Her atar must have been a great leader for so many to follow him.

“My atto still writes to me, to ask me to consider breaking the betrothal and finding another… but I can’t! He sent word again through a cousin in the queen’s entourage. He wants me to return home to meet another ner they have chosen. Despite what they say, I feel bound to my fiancé… I care not for the Doom or that we may never…”

“You will meet again. However faint that hope seems… They tell Amme the same of my atar when she’s not feeling well…” Mornel felt the tears coming and it was Amarie’s turn to console her. “I haven’t seen my Amme since she went to Lorien to heal… I am afraid she will die like Grandmother Miriel. I am afraid my atar and brothers might be hurt or worse by the monsters in the east she wove in her tapestry. I am afraid, even though Master Rumil says Lord Namo offers rest and healing to the fea of those who died in the Great Journey until they can be re-embodied in the gardens of his brother… Grandmother Miriel did not come back…”

“But she did, Mornel. My cousin who serves Lady Este saw her. Lady Miriel now serves Lady Vaire…”

“Really?”

“Perhaps you can meet her when you visit your amil…”

Mornel nodded and stifled a yawn.

“It’s late and we have a long day ahead… perhaps you should go back to your room…”

Mornel shook her head. “May I stay here tonight, please? I get scared sometimes thinking of the monsters…”

“Of course…” Amarie cuddled the elfling close to her as she pulled the covers up to their chins.

“Hm, Amarie… did my atar enjoy the Friendship Festival?”

“Oh, we have never seen Prince Feanaro attend the festival during the time I have been in Tirion,” the older elf admitted. “The king and queen, your uncles and aunts, but never your atto. He must have been a busy ner with all his inventions and stuff. Your brothers did attend on occasion,” Amarie smiled at the memory. “My beloved persuaded Makalaure to play while he sang for me. Then Tyelkormo’s hound got loose and ruined everything. Little Aikanaro fell into the fountain and had to be fished out… Prince Nolofinwe had the water switched for wine for that day and Naro was quite drunk afterwards. Maitimo got drunk once and kissed Findekano in the street thinking he was a nis.”

“What did Findekano do?” Mornel murmured sleepily. “Did he get mad?”

“Well, no. He is such a nice ner, so he helped Maitimo back to his house to rest instead…” Amarie watched as the elfling drifted off into reverie, no doubt dreaming of her brothers enjoying themselves at the party. Amarie soon drifted off into her own reverie of a golden-haired prince who ruled her heart and fea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel and Amarie have built up a rapport of sorts. Next chapter will be the festival and Mornel might find out the truth about her atto. 
> 
> The City Festival/ Festival of Friendship is something I have created for this story. It is meant to be unique to the Noldor and Vanyar, especially those in Tirion. We can probably guess at Feanaro's reasons for not hanging about town for that festival.


	8. A Little Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel struggles to find her place amidst the festivities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to break it into 2 separate chapters because it is so lengthy.

Mornel winced as the brush wielded by Indis’ handmaid tugged at her hair. More fragrant oil was slathered on the wayward tresses to work the snag loose. Barely awake from her reverie, she stood before the mirror in a sea-green gown altered to fit her smaller frame. It had been one of Artanis’, but she hated wearing it, so Nixelle said. Surely her cousin would not mind her borrowing it…  

“Ara, where’s her circlet? She can’t go out there without one,” Indis murmured. 

 “She doesn’t have one yet,” her uncle’s voice called out. It was not yet dawn but the Noldoran and his kin were already up and dressing for the morning prayers before Great Square. He looked almost too hot under his heavy velvet and ermine mantle. The heavy ceremonial crown kept sliding down onto his brow. His hair was already bound up in formal braids held back with matching silver and gemstone clasps.

“Will Anaire and Eldalote be joining us for the rites?” Indis murmured as Amarie dressed her hair with delicate gemstones cut in the likeness of violets. A widow she may be, but as queen and mother to a king, she was allowed her little frivolities. No black mourning crepe for her.

“Nay, Eldalote wishes to spend the morning with her parents. As for Anaire, she said she will not snatch the limelight from our little princess,” Findis adjusted her ribbons and tucked a stray wisp of hair under her wimple. Being a novice disciple to the Valie Este did have its benefits. From henceforth, her dress would only be plain and shorn of needless trimmings as the unadorned blue gown she now wore. Unfortunately, the style only made her look sterner than usual.

“I will join you later…” Amarie had finished her work. She had no part in the ceremony ahead. She dropped a tiny kiss on her charge’s brow before Findis took Mornel’s hand. Indis smoothed a crease in the back of her son’s mantle. They must hurry if they were to lead the dawn prayers. The dawn of the Sun was much shorter than the mingling of Laurelin’s light as it waxed.

* * *

 

The tiny royal household was not alone on the terrace. There were two Maiar waiting there. Mornel’s heart lifted when she caught sight of her friend Olorin. She would have run forward to hug him if her aunt’s grip had not tightened on her wrist. Unlike the morning of her arrival, the plaza was milling with more elves than she had ever seen in her young life. She did not know that this was a far cry from past festivals when the square would be packed shoulder-to-shoulder, with more elves perched on the roofs and balconies of the surrounding houses. _Too many had left,_ Arafinwe noted regretfully.

“Lord Olorin… Lord Eonwe…” the Noldoran greeted the Maiar. “This is…” _A mistake. It’s a mistake to hold the festival so soon._ No one had any mood for rejoicing in Tirion. Arafinwe’s keen eyes picked out among the assembly familiar faces - nobles whose children had followed his into Exile, elves who had lost their loved ones to the Doom.

“You have grieved for too long. Lord Manwe wants the city to heal and reaffirm her friendship with Valmar and Alqualonde,” Lord Eonwe’s voice was loud enough to be heard throughout the plaza for the words were not solely for the Noldoran but his people too. “True, we may mourn those Exiled, but as a people, the Eldar must heal and continue to live as Iluvatar wills them in peace and harmony.”

They commenced the rites honouring the Valar and Iluvatar. The Noldoran lifted his voice in an opening hymn of praise. Arafinwe’s was a solitary voice, unaccompanied by neither music nor choir as tradition demanded. For the first few stanzas, it was strong. However it wavered as he noted the many absent faces in the assembly. The silence was not the respectful one which normally accompanied the prayers led by his father and the Noldoran knew it. Distracted, he missed a note and a soft murmur started up in some corner of the plaza. It was a common hymn he had chosen. That should not have happened.

Indis moved closer to her son to reassure him. Arafinwe lacked the oratory finesse of his brothers and Feanaro used to tease him mercilessly about how he would fumble over his words when presented with a large audience. It was a losing battle. Arafinwe had lost the melody of the lilting words. The festival was set to start in disarray when a soft whispered hymn started.

Findis glanced over to her niece. Mornel was singing softly, but loud enough for those on the terrace to hear her childish voice. That seemed to compose the Noldoran and Arafinwe’s voice strengthened as he found the melody again. This time it was not one voice carrying the hymn but two. Mornel’s soft voice was almost drowned out by her uncle’s sonorous words. Finally it was all over and the heralds declared the festival open with a blare of trumpets. The adults turned their attention to the youngest member of their household. Findis wondered if it would be fitting to administer a smack to her niece now or wait until they were in private. 

“I-I’m sorry…” Mornel whimpered. “I know I shouldn’t…” Master Rumil and Amarie had both stressed the sacred importance of the festival’s opening and she had messed things up. She had only meant to sing the hymn deep inside her but…

Instead, her uncle patted her on the head and smiled. “Thank you, Mornel.” She might have broken one of the protocols governing the ceremony, but Eru knew how much worse she had saved them from. Eonwe shrugged while Olorin chuckled with amusement.

“Miruvore! All fountains are spouting miruvore!” a trumpeteer shouted. Arafinwe raised an eyebrow questioningly at the Maia. The last time the fountains spouted wine, the festival had degraded into a drunken party with less than stellar behaviour by the citizens. It took a week to clear up the damage caused. Nolofinwe was also taken to task for emptying the palace wine cellars to supply the city’s central fountain.

“That’s Aiwendil’s doing. Lady Yavanna commands for the Noldor to be merry, celebrate and bless the city with new life, in her exact words…” Olorin coughed. Already some elves barely past their majority were swigging the heady wine and inhibitions were dropping faster than assorted garments as giggling neri and nissi darted into convenient alleys and doorways.

The Maiar took their leave, much to Mornel’s dismay.

“Don’t worry, little one. You’ll do fine,” Olorin bent down to give the little elfling a fleeting hug. “Your amme sends her love from Lorien,” he added in a low whisper meant only for Mornel.

* * *

 

They partook of a light meal before attending the Games where warriors competed in archery and wrestling. With the aid of the miruvore, Arafinwe’s mood lightened as the day drew on. He had switched his heavy crown and formal mantle for his circlet and a light cloak. Soon he was cheering with the spectators as a sprightly young elf bested his larger opponent and tumbled him onto the mat. All his trepidation about the festival was gone like dewdrops in the sun.

“Mornel, your Uncle Nolofinwe used to compete in wrestling. As did your cousin Findekano,” Findis murmured as she passed a plate of sweetmeats to her niece. Her stern exterior was softening amidst the festivities. During the archery event, Eldalote and Amarie joined them in the royal box.

“That’s Helwien,” Amarie pointed out a tall hooded figure among the archers clad in a kingfisher blue tunic and leather leggings. At a glance, the broad shoulders and muscular arms suggested a ner, but the illusion was dispelled when she turned to face the royal box. The leather vest did little to hide her generous bosom. A wisp of red hair peeked out from under the hood.

“She is spouse to your brother Carnistir. Her house is famed for the brilliant blue which she is now wearing,” Amarie explained. “It is second only to the deep purple cloth produced by the Telerin dyers.”

“She is a skilled archer and craftswoman both,” Eldalote added.

Mornel thought her amme would have looked much like Helwien, ruddy of face and strong of arm, had Nerdanel’s health been better. Nerdanel was and is still hailed as the best sculptress in Aman, although her workshop had lain idle since her husband left. Mornel thought her law-sister gave her a wink from under her peaked hood.

After the midday meal was a poetry and music competition, which Mornel and Amarie both enjoyed greatly. Her brother Makalaure used to win the title at every music competition he participated in, Mornel mused, until Grandfather Finwe persuaded him to allow other elves a chance at the title. Instead, Makalaure played at the banquets hosted by the king.

* * *

 

The hours flew by swiftly. Soon it was dusk and the nobles and courtiers made their way to the Grand Hall where the banquet was to be held. Washed, scrubbed, and clad in her new silver gown, Mornel fidgeted at the high table when she felt the nobles glance her way. She was to be seated next to the Noldoran, _a daughter of Feanaro,_ they whispered in hushed tones. She could not understand the looks. Her uncle did. He scowled at the offending nobles and asked her if she would like to join Amarie at the courtiers’ tables instead.

Thus Mornel found herself seated between Master Rumil and Amarie across from the Vanyarin minstrel who had won the title at the day’s music competition with his lament for the Two Trees. She was allowed a watered-down cordial of miruvore on account of her tender age. It was not unusual for royal children so young to attend banquets, but never had one mingled with the lesser courtiers the likes of the tutors, handmaidens, and musicians, save for Curufinwe Feanaro.

“Your atar was never one for airs, unlike his Vanyarin brethren,” an ancient harpist mused. “He oft spent his time with the staff than rubbing shoulders with the nobles…”

“Oh, hush… Prince Nolo was always one of the warriors, and his sister Lalwen…” a guardsman ventured.

“But they will sit at the high table during banquets rather than eat with their men or ladies…” Rumil nodded. At their table were elves who retained some respect or fondness for Prince Feanaro, however small or grudging. Here Mornel was among friends. Many of the older elves fussed over the child as children were so rare among the Noldor now. The welcome would be very different had she been sitting elsewhere.

Rumil frowned slightly as he glanced at the high table. The Noldoran was flanked by his mother and sister. On the far right, Lady Eldalote tittered at some jest the king made. As his law-daughter, it was her due to join them at the high table at his invitation. It was the nis on the far left which caught his attention. Lady Anaire was resplendent in a blue gown shot with silver embroidery. It was dreadfully similar in cutting to that worn by Lady Findis but Rumil was certain that was not the reason for the scowl on her face.

“Lady Findis never cared much for company, save her books… She has always been the plain one…”

“I think Aunt Findis can be very pretty, if she would stop looking as if she were sucking lemons all the time…” Mornel quipped. The adults looked at each other in silence for a heartbeat before breaking out into laughter.

“Never thought I would hear that coming from Feanaro’s elfling!”

“It was quite unfortunate really. Your atar used to tease his half-siblings when he was still a youngster. Compared to her mother, Findis was not as pretty and Feanaro said some unkind things he shouldn’t have. Findis was a serious little nis and she took his words to heart,” Rumil explained.

“Poor aunt…” Mornel murmured and resolved to be more patient when her aunt tried to correct her in her table manners and etiquette.

The banquet tables and benches were soon moved aside to allow for a large space in the centre of the hall for dancing in. Rumil danced a jig with Mistress Faniel. The Noldoran led his mother in a stately court dance. Amarie danced with her cousin and that same cousin took Mornel on a short dance. It was terribly awkward as Elemmire was so much taller than her.

“Amarie, your parents…” Elemmire suddenly warned as he handed his partner back to Amarie. Amarie glanced up to see her parents striding purposefully towards her with a reluctant-looking ner in tow. She cast about for someone nearby she could hand her charge to but there was none. Elemmire had already been whirled away by a smiling nis. Rumil was caught in a heated debate with several loremasters.

“Mornel, wait here by the stairs please. I’ll be a moment…” she glided forward to greet her parents with a forced smile. Mornel took the chance to study the myriad courtiers in their finery and the serving elves bearing trays of wine or sweetmeats about. Her uncle was chatting cordially with a knot of noblemen by the drinks table. Indis and Eldalote conversed with several ladies on the terrace overlooking the rose garden.

She picked her way slowly but surely up the stairs, savouring each new vantage point she gained. Before she realised it, she was halfway up the stairs and overlooking the revelry.

“Aunt Findis?” Mornel caught a glimpse of blue darting into the deep shadows of the gallery above her, shadows too dark even for elven sight to penetrate. Findis was not among the revellers below. “Aunt?” Lifting up her flowing silver skirts, Mornel ventured up into the darkness of the gallery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel is enjoying herself thus far, but things might change. 
> 
> Helwien – I got this name from Quenya Name Generator. I thought it meaningful since I have set up Carnistir’s wife as a dyer. Helwa- blue, which will fit in nicely with the blue dye from the indigo plant.


	9. Finding the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel finds the truth about her atto but not in the way Arafinwe would have hoped for.

"Aunt Findis?" Mornel paused in mid-step. She was in the shadowy gallery now. Her aunt hastened forward along the gallery. Findis had forgone her wimple at the banquet in favour of going bareheaded, so there was no tell-tale gleam of white to give her away. Mornel hurried after her as fast as her skirts would allow. It was hard not to step on the hem with her sandals. Her quarry hovered ahead in the shadows for a moment before stepping into a pool of moonlight thrown from a small skylight in the vaulted ceiling above them.

Mornel froze. It was not Lady Findis but Lady Anaire who stood before her.

"Greetings, Princess. I do not believe we have been properly introduced," the nis' tone was icy. Mornel shivered. The music and merrymaking below sounded so distant.

"You are my Aunt Anaire, spouse to my uncle, Prince Nolofinwe… Uncle- His Majesty told me of you…" Mornel's eyes darted to the statue in the nook behind her. It depicted Findekano from the waist up as a young bard with harp in hand. On the wall was a tapestry of a dark-haired nis drawing a bow,  _Irisse_. This was a corner of the palace she had not yet ventured to.

"Did he tell you of how my children used to enjoy this festival? Arakano was too young to compete in the Games the last time… Irisse participated in the archery event for the first time… They should have competed today, if it were not for your atar…"

"What can you tell me of my atar? Please?" Mornel ventured in a guarded tone. Part of her wanted to run back to the dancing elves and seek out Amarie, or her uncle. Part of her demanded she stand her ground.

"You know nothing, do you? That's just like Arafinwe," Anaire snorted with disdain. "Surely you know of the Darkening of Valinor and the slaying of your grandfather at Formenos?"

Mornel nodded hesitantly. She knew of the Withering of the Two Trees but no one had told much her of her grandfather's death. She only knew he had died in distant Formenos, and that the northern fortress now stood abandoned by the Eldar.

"Yet you know nothing of the one who sired you, the one who has wrought so much ruin on Valinor…" Anaire cupped the elfling's chin in her hand almost tenderly as a mother would with her child.

"W-What do you mean?" Mornel breathed. Surely this was not some childish prank or careless remark her aunt was referring to. Her tone suggested something far darker.

"Why should I tell you when you can read it for yourself? That door leads to the scriptorium. The scribes were copying a history of the Darkening for King Ingwe's library but they have gone for the banquet. I do not believe they had time to put away the scrolls before then. If you wish to know, go read. Now leave me alone with my children…" Anaire turned away from Mornel to gaze upon the likeness of her son.

With trembling hands, Mornel tried the door. It yielded easily and opened into a narrow room with long work tables and endless scrolls. It smelled of ink and old parchment. Moonlight poured in through large skylights, illuminating the scriptorium with silvery hues. A large scroll was laid out in the central table in a pool of light.

 _A Historie of the Silmarilli and the Rebellion of the Noldor._ The tantalising title leapt out from the vellum. Gingerly, Mornel smoothed out the scroll and read. The words were difficult at first but she soon caught the rhythm of the writing.

Alone, the child read of her father's greatest creations and his growing obsession with the gems. She cried out in dismay at the mention of her father drawing a sword on his own brother. She sobbed when she read of the exile to Formenos and her grandfather's murder there during the Darkening. Her father had selfishly refused to surrender his gems to the Valar but it was for nought. The Black Foe Moringotto had stolen the jewels and borne them over the ice.

Enraged by the death of his father and the theft of his prized jewels, Feanaro and his sons had gathered and sworn a terrible oath to reclaim their Silmarilli or be condemned to the eternal Darkness.

Her mind reeling, the elfling stopped reading.

 _How could her atto, great as he is, hope to prevail against a Vala, especially one who had hoodwinked the rest of the Valar long enough to sow discord and slay a king under their protection upon their Undying Shores?_ Perhaps her father was already dead, and her brothers too. Perhaps her uncle, cousins, and aunt, as well as the numerous Noldor who had followed him in his mad quest too.  _Surely it was madness that drove her atar to defy the wisdom and law of the Valar._

There were more runes on the scroll but she could not bring herself to continue. The words of the Oath chased each other in her mind like gnawing rats.  _Darkness doom us if our deed faileth…_ Sweet Eru, they had called on not only Lord Manwe and Lady Varda but Iluvatar himself to bear witness to the Oath they swore.

Her cousins, aunt and uncle, the others are to be bound for Lord Namo's Halls to heal should they perish on those dangerous shores. One day they might be freed from the Halls and returned to their families' loving embrace. For her brothers and father, only the darkness of the Void awaited them. Their task was impossible. She shivered and wept.  _Her poor amme will never see her sons again!_ She shoved the scroll off the table.

Half-blind with tears, she fled from the room past Anaire, who watched her hasty departure with scant emotion.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, her absence had been noticed in the Grand Hall. Master Rumil searched along the terraces and a frantic Amarie the rose garden below. It was likely the child might have wearied of the revelry and ventured into the gardens. Mornel had learnt to speak with the nightingales recently and would take long strolls by starlight to converse with them. Somewhere in some nook the elfling might be in deep reverie. Various serving elves discreetly peered behind the draperies or under the tablecloths. As an elfling, Arafinwe once sought refuge under a table after being bullied by his eldest brother.

Lady Indis fanned herself as she moved from noble to noble in idle chit-chat. She was immensely uneasy. No one had thought to inform the Noldoran of his missing niece yet as he was busy with his Vanyarin guests. Amarie's parents had been pushing him to have her betrothal to Findarato dissolved, despite Amarie's staunch declaration of her undying love for Findarato. Eldalote had volunteered to search the many corridors leading from the hall. It was possible the child might have wandered off.

Mornel wasn't really thinking as she sprinted along the corridor. All she knew was that she had to get back to the lights and music of the festival, away from the horrible room where she had learned so much of her atto's actions. The stairs were before her now, steep and sweeping down into the hall below. She was so close…

Her sandal caught on the hem of her skirts. For a moment she teetered at the very edge of the top step before she tumbled headlong down the stairs in a tangle of limbs and skirts. She barely had time to cry out before her head crashed into the marble step and she blacked out.

The commotion drew everyone's attention to the gallery stairs. The little elfling was sprawled at the foot of the stairs in a boneless heap. "Mornel!" Arafinwe shouted. "Get healers!" Indis cried out. Master Rumil hastened to obey. Arafinwe tried to scoop his niece into his arms but his sister stopped him.

"No, don't touch her yet," Findis warned. She had trained as a healer in Valmar since before the Darkening. Careless movement could do the patient further harm. She did not like the way Mornel's left leg was oddly twisted. Blood was flowing from a deep gash on her head. Her eyes were closed. Gingerly, she bent over the motionless child. Mornel was breathing, but very shallowly, and her pulse was faltering. Amarie had arrived from the rose garden and was looking on in horror, barely held upright by her cousin and Eldalote. Above the now hushed hall, Anaire peered from the gallery, her face an expressionless mask.

The whispers started as soon as the healers carefully laid their patient on a stretcher. _An omen, it was the Valar cursing the House of Feanaro… No, it is a sign that a child of his has no place in the city… Perhaps she would go join her grandmother in Mandos. Had not Miriel died of her own will, shedding her hroa? Had not Finwe been the first elf slain in Valinor? Perhaps the Valar had turned their backs on the Noldor for their sins._ The royal family hurried after their stricken member as soon as the Noldoran made his apologies. The banquet was over.

* * *

 

"She dislocated her right shoulder and broke both bones in her left forearm. She broke her left leg in two places and might have a concussion. Her neck and spine are intact, fortunately…" the chief healer surmised. They had set the bones and stitched up the head wound. A brace would help her shoulder realign after they had forced it back into its socket. It was fortunate that she was out of it during the operation or it would have been immensely painful.

"Why does she not wake?" the king demanded. He had spent the night in the Halls of Healing with Amarie as the healers did their work. Indis came earlier to coax Amarie to leave with her. The poor nis was distraught with guilt over Mornel's accident.  _I should have watched her more closely,_ the Vanya maiden insisted even as Findis urged a calming tisane on her.

"Sire, we do not know… perhaps the shock in one so young… She was born during the Darkening…" the flustered elf replied. He did not understand why his patient had not recovered her senses. They dared not give her any opiates during the process of setting the bones due to the concussion. When Prince Tyelkormo knocked himself out after being thrown from the saddle, he had regained his senses barely an hour later while they were trying to set his arm, screaming curses and lashing out at the poor healers for their pains. It took two full vials of poppy-milk before he was sedated enough to put a cast on without causing further injury to himself or the healers.  _The Eldar are very resilient, and more so in Aman. Healing should be swift._

"It would seem her fea has been injured but we have no idea what could have caused this…" Wounds to the fea were rare in Aman and even the experienced healer had never encountered any other such case in his lengthy career save for Queen Miriel who had passed from sheer weariness after an exceedingly difficult quickening and birth.

"Can she be moved?" Arafinwe asked. "Perhaps to Lorien…" This should not have happened. She was his ward and she was injured under his roof, in his care. She did not deserve to have this horrid accident happen to her. He did not know how she came to be in the gallery above. Perhaps like all children, she had grown bored of the dancing and set off to explore the palace. It was an accident. Anaire's presence in the gallery was purely chance. As was the fact the scribes found their scrolls on the Darkening and Feanaro's Oath disturbed when they went to fetch them for the Vanyarin envoy. Arafinwe had his suspicions about what could have triggered his niece's coma but he hated to think ill of his own law-sister. Lady Anaire had been both wise and kind before the Darkening. She had overseen the royal scribes and archives to great effect after their most experienced historian Quennar went into Exile with his brothers.

"Her condition is stable but I would advise we give her a few more days to heal. Perhaps she might recover without the need for a journey. Children can be very resilient," the healer suggested. He had not the desire to undertake the strenuous journey with his patient as the Noldoran would surely demand of him.

"We agree," Findis placed her hands on her brother's shoulders. "Come, you must rest. Amme has already sent Amarie to her room with a tisane of chamomile. Now it's your turn to rest."

"I will go pray to Eru for Mornel's recovery," Arafinwe insisted. "She is the last of my father's grandchildren on these shores. We cannot lose her to Mandos…" His niece lay silent and motionless on her cot. He wondered if she were starting to fade.  _Was such a thing possible for an elfling on the Undying Shores?_  He did not know for the histories had never spoken of any of the Eldar fading thus, save Miriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel has had a very nasty shock. She has read about the Oath and events leading up to it, but she has not read about the Kinslaying at Alqualonde yet.


	10. Visions of Things Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel is hovering at the gate to Mandos after her accident and many are worried. Her uncle makes plans for her to be sent to Lorien but the Valar have other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel is hovering at the gate to Mandos after her accident and many are worried. Her uncle makes plans for her to be sent to Lorien but the Valar have other plans.
> 
> I have been informed that I messed up the twins and that Amrod is actually Pityo. So I am re-writing the parts of this series featuring the twins.

 

 

 

“How’s she?” Findis asked. 

She had spoken with the royal healers. The physical wounds were not mending as they should, even if they took into account the lack of the Light of the Trees.  _Anaire had a lot to answer for, should the rumours prove true,_  Findis pursed her lips. Arafinwe was in no state to question how the scriptorium came to be unlocked or if Anaire had any part in Mornel’s accident. The scribes claimed that they had been given leave by her to end their work earlier to prepare for the banquet despite having not quite completed their work of copying the documents for King Ingwe. It was not Findis’ place, but her brother’s to question Anaire should it come to that.  

“No change,” Arafinwe murmured sadly. 

Their mother had gone back with the rest of the Vanyarin party, unable to delay her departure further. The open window nearest her cot was often occupied by thrushes in the day and nightingales in the night. The birdsong soothed whoever was sitting by the elfling’s side. Perhaps in the depths of slumber, the elfling could still hear the encouraging voices of her winged friends. The healers sometimes found little gifts of flowers or berries scattered about the blankets. Once a magpie even purloined an opal ring from the king’s own jewel-case and threaded it into the elfling’s dark tresses. 

Mahtan and his wife have been informed and were on their way to Tirion. They would stay as long as their busy work schedules could allow. Master Rumil often read aloud to her from a book of tales Mornel was fond of. Amarie would sing for her pleasing Vanyarin songs. Eldalote offered to aid the healers in preparing the athelas and other herbs to strengthen the elfling. Her nervous chatter could be heard in the store where the herbs were prepared. 

“Lord Olorin and Lord Aiwendil are here,” Findis ushered in their visitors. Arafinwe tried not to wrinkle his nose at the too-earthy reek of mulch wafting off Aiwendil. The Maia tracked a trail of mud and leaves in his wake, much to the healers’ dismay. 

“Her fea is indeed wounded. For one so young, she needs the light of her parents’ fear to heal,” Olorin said solemnly. Between him and his colleague, they could mend the hroa, but it will be in vain if Mornel’s fea were treading the path to Mandos. 

“Her atar is lost under the Doom and her amil languishes in Lorien on the verge of fading,” Arafinwe groaned. “Could the light of any of her kindred do in their stead?” 

“Nay, you are too distant in blood to aid her in that manner. A sibling could be of some aid. Otherwise it will be up to the little one to decide,” Olorin explained gently and patted the Noldoran on the shoulder. 

“So it is to Lorien…” Arafinwe gave a weary sigh. 

“She is Curufinwe Feanaro’s daughter. If she decides to live, nothing could hold her to Mandos,” Aiwendil chuckled softly as he picked a dried flower from the child’s hair. “She needs more time…”  

* * *

She felt cold and numb. It did hurt at first- a dull ache. The ache went away. She could hear the voices of her family and friends. At first they were close, but slowly they faded off into a distant hum. She found the silence and darkness which remained comforting. 

Mornel curled up into a tight ball. It was brighter now, and the sounds grew louder. She felt light and naked, as if shorn not only of her garments but her very hroa. She stood on the Great Square amidst elves who did not seem to heed her presence. By the torchlight she saw them, her atto and brothers. She knew it could only be them although she had yet to see any likeness of her brothers within her grandfather’s home or the palace.  

Her atto’s eyes gleamed with an almost lunatic light as he addressed the crowd. Red-haired Maitimo stood beside him, towering over his father by half a head. His arms were thrown almost protectively over the shoulders of two younger elves, the Ambarussa. The twins were staring as if transfixed by their father’s speech. Makalaure clutched his harp to his breast still, having just sung the funeral lament for their grandfather. Blond Tyelkormo and raven-haired Curufinwe stood shoulder to shoulder, hands resting on their sword hilts. Off to the side, Carnistir scowled as he dabbed at his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve.

_"Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean_

_Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,_

_Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,_

_Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,_

_Dread nor danger, not Doom itself_

_Shall defend him from Fëanáro, and Fëanáro's kin,_

_Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,_

_Finding keepeth or afar casteth_

_A Silmaril. This swear we all..._

_Death we will deal him ere Day's ending,_

_Woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,_

_Eru Allfather! To the everlasting_

_Darkness doom us if our deed faileth..._

_On the holy mountain hear in witness_

_and our vow remember,_

_Manwe and Varda!"_  

Swords raised high, her atto and brothers swore that terrible Oath. Mornel stood frozen in a silent scream.

 _You cannot change the shadow of things past…_ a soft voice whispered. The images faded back into darkness and a beautiful nis stepped forward. Mornel sank to her knees. She knew this was the Valie Vaire.  _Why are you here, Mornel Feanariel?_

 _I do not know where else I should be… Tell me please, if my brothers and atto now dwell in Mandos’ Halls or the eternal Dark?_  

The Valie was silent as she wiped the elfling’s tears with a handkerchief. Moved by the Noldoran’s prayers, Manwe had allowed a special boon to aid the elfling’s recovery. However, it was up to her husband to persuade the stubborn elven fea in his care to cooperate. There was no telling what could happen. 

She glanced up at the approach of another. Of course they had not expected Curufinwe Feanaro. That poor fea was too far consumed by his rage and madness still. It was another tormented fea which clung to her husband’s robes.  _Pityafinwe Ambarto_. 

Mornel hiccupped and looked up. The Valie was gone. She was sitting in her favourite glade near Mahtan’s house. The glade was bathed in sunlight and alive with birdsong. There was someone up the tree – a young ner just past his majority. The elf lounged against the trunk of the oak tree as he smiled at her. 

“Greetings, little sister… would you come join me here in the shade? This sun-thing is so hot…” Mornel did not need a second invite. Determinedly, she clambered up towards the branch. Reaching down, her brother pulled her up to sit next to him. He waited until she caught her breath. 

“You’re not in the eternal Dark like the Oath…” she hugged her brother fiercely. “But you’re not alive either…” Mornel instinctively recognized it was a shade she was speaking with. The outlines of her brother shimmered like a mirage. _Pityafinwe_ , the name slipped into her mind like a whisper. 

“Lord Manwe and Eru declared the Oath void… We of the Exiles are allowed the solace of the Halls should we perish. However, Valinor is denied to us under the Doom, until it be lifted. Lord Irmo and Mandos have granted me a chance to meet you before then. Tell Amme we are sorry we left…” 

“Who else are there in the Halls? Are our brothers…” Mornel asked quietly. 

“Too many have come into Mandos, our atto among them. Methinks I spied Turukano’s wife, but I cannot be sure. But the rest of our brothers, Uncle Nolo, Aunt Lalwen, and cousins of the line of Finwe still live on Beleriand’s shores. Listen, little sister. My time here grows short. Don’t fade, not like this. Please take care of Amme for us…” 

“I promise… Does it hurt?” Mornel asked softly. “Dying…” 

Pityo nodded and hugged himself. “It did, then I woke up in Mandos where I started healing. Mandos is not only for punishment, it can be a place to heal, if one’s fortunate…” 

“How is atto?” 

“I have not seen him yet. His wounds are graver than mine… He wasn’t always that way, you know, mad… No matter what they say…” Pityo trembled. His heart felt so weary and his wounds from the fire were reopening anew as the painful memories returned.  

“We must go… I back to Mandos and you back to Uncle Arafinwe and Amme,” Pityo stated. “Perhaps one day…” 

“We will meet again in Valinor…” Mornel tearfully bid farewell to her brother. It pained her to see the terrible burns and blisters slowly appear on his skin as they spoke. Pityo managed a weak smile before he faded away completely. Mornel was left perched on the branch alone. 

Her world suddenly tilted and she was falling into blackness. Jarring pain shot through her tiny body and she cried out. 

* * *

 

“You fool! I warned you to be careful!” Findis’ voice snapped in annoyance. The novice healers offered their profuse apologies. 

The royal Noldor siblings’ tempers were close to fraying.  Everything was not going according to plan after the Maiar left. First the coach which was to take them to Lorien broke a wheel axle. Next Mornel caught an infection and was burning up with the wound-fever before it broke. Following that, the chief healer who was to accompany her on the journey badly scalded himself brewing tea. A rare rainstorm prevented them from starting out for a further two days. 

Arafinwe crouched on the floor, cradling the whimpering patient. The last thing Mornel needed was a tumble off the stretcher and onto the hard flagstone floor in her delicate condition.  

The elfling’s eyelids fluttered and a weak moan issued from her lips. 

“She wakes! Findis, she wakes!” 

“Hurts…” Mornel croaked. She wondered why her arms were so stiff when she tried to hold onto her uncle. They were bound up with stiff bandages. Arafinwe lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the cot in the Hall of Healing. A warm milky concoction was held to her lips for her to sip at. 

“Does it still hurt, Mornel?” Findis asked. 

“N-not as bad… I saw my brother Pityo…” Mornel started weakly. “He’s dead, so’s atto…” 

“You were in Mandos?” Arafinwe demanded. Mornel shook her head. 

“I do not know where I was. It seemed like the glade behind Grandfather’s smithy, but it could not be. It was like some dream. Pityo told me the others are still in Beleriand. S-says he’s sorry for leaving…” Mornel whispered. 

“Lord Irmo’s work no doubt,” Arafinwe muttered under his breath.  _His children are alive._  A sense of relief washed over him. There was hope yet for them. He offered up a silent prayer of thanks.   

“Mornel!” Amarie cried out in sheer relief as she stepped through the door. With her were Eldalote and Helwien. Helwien still wore her dye-splattered apron, having rushed over from her workshop. Her hands and forearms were stained blue. News had travelled fast in the streets. The citizens were abuzz with the news of the princess’ accident and the ensuing coma. Now she had awoken against all expectations.  

* * *

In Mandos’ Halls, two wounded fea met. One was a brilliant pillar of fire, raging still, despite having consumed its hroa to ashes. It seemed to the son that the fire in his atto’s soul would blaze until the end of time itself. His father’s madness had seen him burnt with the ships at Losgar. Pityo had studiously avoided him since hearing of his arrival in Mandos. Now he resolved to speak with him.

 _Atto,_ Pityo tried to stifle the trembling in his voice.  _You have a daughter… Her name is Mornel._ He received no acknowledgement of his words. _She looks much like Curufinwe…_ This time the pillar wavered. His father did not speak.

 _She dwells in Tirion, ward of Uncle Arafinwe. Memories of the Eldar are long and I fear her path will not be easy… Not with Alqualonde… Atto! Have you nothing to say at all?_ Pityo demanded. Feanaro remained silent. Even Finwe, whose approval and affection Feanaro had so jealously sought in life, was unable to draw him out of his silence.  _What more one of the youngest and most overlooked of his many sons?_

 _Farewell, Atto…_ Pityo said and drifted off. His wounds were still aching. The effort of holding a fair form had been too much, even with Lord Irmo’s aid. It was too soon after his horrific death for his fea to heal and it would never do for his little sister to see the full extent of the injuries to his fea. He must find some corner of the Halls where he can heal in peace without encountering hostile fear from Alqualonde or the Helcaraxe. Perhaps he would seek out his grandfather. Finwe had been his grandson’s protector since the battered fea stumbled into Mandos. Pityo had earlier sworn never to leave the halls even if the Doom were to be lifted if his twin was not there to receive him in Lorien. Now, if offered, he would accept re-embodiment if only to watch over his little sister.

_Eru knows she’ll need all the help she can get._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am taking the plot where Amrod (Pityo/Ambarto) gets burned up with the ships at Losgar. So he’s dead and in Mandos to conveniently be pulled out by Lords Irmo and Namo as proof to Mornel that the Oath is void. Seriously doubt Feanor will be cooperating with the Valar in any way at this point.
> 
> Also gave me the excuse to have one of Feanor’s sons confronting him in the Halls - the one he ended up killing by accident. Seriously, no roll call of the kids before burning up your ships, supplies and all? No wonder Amrod has issues.
> 
> Amrod's information is not exactly up to date. Cousin Arakano is most likely batting about in Mandos by now but their paths have yet to cross.


	11. Gardens of Lorien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arafinwe feels Mornel is not healing as well as she should and sends her to Lorien under Findis’ care. Mornel learns about what happened at Alqualonde and is distraught.

“Thank you, Mornel,” Findis looked up as Mornel brought over the herbs she needed for her sleeping draught. She had been mixing it for some elves still tormented by nightmares from the Kinslaying and unable to enter their much-needed reverie. Findis had officially started her discipleship under Lady Este and Lord Irmo in the arts of healing. Henceforth, she would not be as free to leave Lorien to visit her brother. 

Arafinwe had been too hasty in sending Mornel to Lorien, Findis mused as she carefully weighed out the necessary herbs to be boiled for the patients. Mornel’s healing had been slow as expected of a child not born in the Light of the Trees. However, the slight weakness in her left leg remained long after the other hurts had healed. Findis found she rather enjoyed her niece’s company. Amarie was a great help in the early days but she had duties in Tirion she could not neglect. The child was curious about the healing arts and the Gardens of Lorien. The Maiar allowed her to wander about as long she did not over-exert her weak leg or disturb the other patients. 

Mornel’s recovery was well on track and it would not be long before she could be returned to Tirion. Already she had put her crutches aside although her leg was still weak. Olorin and Aiwendil visited often with stories and little gifts for the child’s amusement. It could be boring in the Gardens for a child. Mornel found other elflings who had been left at Lorien by their parents to heal and shared the toys she had with them. There had been a few complaints from elves who had lost kin in Alqualonde once news spread that the new elfling was Feanaro’s child. Lord Irmo had to make it clear that like every other elf in Lorien to heal, Mornel was a guest of his and under his protection. 

“Aunt, will you be visiting my amil today?” 

“Aye. I will be passing that way after visiting the huts.” Mornel had a cot in her aunt’s rooms rather than share a common ward with the other patients. When Mornel first came, Lord Irmo felt the arrangement necessary to ensure that her presence did not upset his other patients. Despite the initial unhappiness, most of the patients had grown used to seeing the child tagging along at her aunt’s skirts or exercising her weak leg under the careful guidance of Irmo’s helpers. 

“May I come, please?” 

“Sure, only if you promise to be quiet,” Findis replied. 

Soon after her arrival in Lorien, the strain of bearing and raising her child without her soul-mate caused Nerdanel to fall into a deep sleep. Lord Irmo had assured them that it was a sleep of healing and that given time she would awake. For now, Nerdanel slumbered for weeks on end, awaking on the rare occasion for an hour or so before slumbering again. Those bouts of wakefulness were sufficient to reassure her parents that she would not tread the path of Miriel Serinde. Mornel had visited her previously with her aunt but her amil had been in slumber then. 

“I will bring the checkers Olorin gave me for the brothers Tinwion. I can’t play them alone.” _And Findis was often busy._ The brothers were two youths who had witnessed their parents’ deaths at Alqualonde as elflings. The trauma had robbed them of their voices. Their kin had packed them off to Lorien to heal. Their first reaction to Mornel was to pelt her with their wooden cups and pillows until their Maia minders stopped them. Mornel’s innocent charm had won them over in the end and the youths started to look forward to her visits. The healer Maia in charge of their hut informed Findis that the brothers had also lost on that fateful day a younger sister of Mornel’s age to a stray arrow in the chaos. Mornel’s visits did them some good. The younger had made some attempt to speak the other day to ask for some water before reverting to gestures. The older brother’s tantrums had lessened. 

“I hear from the others that they lost their parents at Alqualonde during the Darkening… were they slain by Moringotto as Grandfather was? What happened at Alqualonde, Aunt?” 

 _She does not know yet._ Findis thought sadly. “Come, child, we have much to do before visiting your amil. Go get a stout walking stick in case you get weary.”

* * *

The younger of the Tinwion brothers smiled when Findis and Mornel came into their hut. The dark circles about his eyes spoke of troubled dreams. The elder boy was whittling away at a piece of wood. Still, he acknowledged their visitors with a curt nod. There were precious little for the patients to amuse themselves with in the huts. Mornel shyly presented her little gift to the older youth. He nodded but did not smile. Mornel placed the checkers on the table. Findis spoke calmly to the younger brother who reclined on his cot, checking his pulse and other signs. She bade him open his mouth so that she could peer down his throat. She repeated the same with the elder brother. In the throes of their nightmares, the brothers were known to scream themselves hoarse and cause their throats to bleed. The Maia in charge of their hut had already treated the scratches the pair inflicted on their flesh with healing salves. 

While Findis carried out her examinations of the other patients in the healing hut, the older boy finished his whittling and held out a carved swan to the child. 

“It’s beautiful…” Mornel gasped. The swan had its wings outspread, as if ready to take flight from the water. It’s yours. The carver pressed the carving into Mornel’s hand and closed her small fingers about it. A shadow fell over her. A large hand slapped the gift out of her hand and sent it clattering across the mosaic tiles. 

“She’s the daughter of the elf who killed your parents, my nephew. Have you forgotten that day in Alqualonde?” a tall elf with silvery hair growled as he took hold of the youth’s collar and shook him hard. The younger brother gave a high-pitched cry like a wounded bird. The Maia minders came running. 

“Fie! She is likewise a guest of Lord Irmo, just as your nephews. Reel in your temper! You are forbidden from harming the patients by order of Lord Irmo.” 

Terrified by the commotion, the elfling ran for the sheltering arms of her aunt. Findis held her niece close until her trembling sobs ceased. 

“Accursed Kinslayers…” the Telerin elf spat as the Maiar escorted him out of the hut and the gardens. The rest of the helpers went about settling the alarmed patients. Findis took her leave of her colleagues and took Mornel by the hand, leading her out onto the path to her amil’s hut. 

“A-Aunt… what’s a K-Kinslayer? Why is that ner so angry with us? What did my atto do at Alqualonde?” Mornel asked. 

Findis took a deep breath to steady herself before continuing. She would not hide the truth from Mornel any longer. “A kinslayer is one of the Eldar who kills another of his people. I was not there when the Kinslaying happened.” 

“Atto was. And my brothers…” Mornel stated matter-of-factly as she wiped her tears. “Why? Why did they need to kill?” 

“They say the Teleri refused to ferry the Noldor host across the sea in their ships and a fight broke out. You will have to ask your uncle what happened. Although he came upon the docks after the Kinslaying, he might know better…” 

“D-did many die like the Tinwions’ parents?” 

“Sadly, yes. Many of the elves here have lost kin or were wounded during the Kinslaying. Mornel, whatever they say, you are you. The blame is with Feanaro, not you… Most of the elves understand this, but some like the Tinwions’ uncle… and your Aunt Anaire…”

“Why did atto do it?” the elfling scrunched up her brow in thought. Her brother Pityo had called their atto mad. _Had he been mad then?_  

“Indeed, why? Your atar was a difficult elf to understand. Perhaps his temper and pride got the better of his common sense that day,” Findis mused. “It might have been different if it had been Nolofinwe or Arafinwe who had arrived at Alqualonde first… Look, here we are…” They had arrived at Nerdanel’s hut. 

* * *

 

Findis ushered her niece into a room. Within, Nerdanel reclined wanly in a single bed. She was awake but just barely. She gave a weak smile to her daughter. 

“Amme,” Mornel hesitantly approached the bed. Findis helped her law-sister sit up. 

“Mornel, are you well?” Nerdanel’s voice was barely a whisper. The child nodded. 

“Uncle Arafinwe takes such good care of me. Aunt Findis is here studying healing…” 

“How’s your leg, Mornel? I dreamt you had a terrible accident…” Even in the throes of her illness, a mother would be aware of any threat to her child. 

“I am so much better now, see?” Mornel spun around but her weak leg failed her then and she fell onto her rump.

“She will be able to return to Tirion soon, if she takes care of that leg,” Findis added as she helped her niece up.

“That’s nice… I dreamt Pityo and Fea…” Nerdanel’s voice trailed off and her eyes became unfocused. She was falling back into slumber. Already, the Maia minder was at the door, urging her visitors to leave.

* * *

 

“Will my amil ever recover?” Mornel asked quietly. She was leaning heavily on her stick as they picked their way back to their own hut. Perhaps her leg was not that strong yet. Findis promised herself to soak that limb in warm water with healing herbs and massage it with a soothing oil before the child went to bed.

“She will, in Lord Irmo and Lady Este’s care…” Findis tried to sound reassuring but failed. 

“It’s not fair… Atto and my brothers had to take that stupid Oath… and the poor elves at Alqualonde…” The bottled-up frustrations overflowed and the tears came hard and fast. The strain of keeping up a cheerful front despite the whispers and her slow healing was too much for the little elfling. “Why didn’t the Valar stop them from making that Oath and stop the Kinslaying from happening? Then there would be no Doom and everyone would be happy, right?” Findis had no answer to give her niece. 

“Things were not that simple. The Eldar were given free will by Eru and a choice by the Valar,” Olorin stepped out from the shadows of a stately elm. “Your atto was given a choice to turn back and seek forgiveness from the Valar. He chose to continue his pursuit of Moringotto.” 

“I do not understand…” 

“Perhaps in time you will, child. Now, go with your aunt.” 

“What exactly happened at Alqualonde? Master Olorin, please! Could you tell me?” 

“If you wish to know,” Olorin coughed. “You may go visit your grandmother Miriel at Vaire’s Hall when they open the halls to air their new tapestries in a sennight’s time. You will not get another chance to view them for another yeni. Oh, and you are you, Mornel. Not just Curufinwe’s daughter. You too have free will to make what you will of your life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel is starting to feel the strain of those whispers and gossip about her atto even in the calming Gardens of Lorien. Who could blame her?
> 
> Moringotto – one of the Quenya names for Morgoth (Sindarin) considered by Tolkien but never adopted into canon. Melkor is the name he went by before the Darkening and Feanaro gave him the name 'Black Foe'.


	12. Threads of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel defies her aunt’s orders and makes her way to Vaire’s Hall to view the tapestries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea about the geography of the Valar’s respective halls, and I am taking a leap of faith that the Halls of Vaire and Lorien are within walking distance for a child.

_Amme is improving. She awoke twice this week alone. Alas, I only managed to speak with her for a short while. Master Rumil sent over some assignments I am to complete and return to him through Lord Olorin. I hate algebra and geometry but Olorin says that just because I am away from Tirion doesn’t mean I should let my studies slip. I wish he had sent over the Annals of the Great Journey we were reading before the accident. I do so wish to know what became of King Olwe’s brother Elwe._

_I do not know what exactly happened at Alqualonde. I know my atto led his men to Alqualonde to ask for ships to cross the sea. Aunt Findis said a fight broke out between my atto’s men and the Teleri over the ships. Then Uncle Nolofinwe’s men caught up with them. Many elves were killed and it was the first time elves were killed intentionally by elves in Aman. Master Olorin says that the Teleri elves who died at Alqualonde will be re-embodied and return to their families once their fear are healed in Mandos. I want to believe him and Pityo. I wish my friends the Tinwions could have their parents and sister back soon. Maybe then they can find their voices back._  

Mornel paused in her journal entry to look at the wooden swan Olorin had returned to her on behalf of the Tinwions. One delicate wing was snapped in half. Olorin had offered to mend it with his magic but Mornel declined. It was fine the way it was. Somehow, it felt wrong to change the swan further after all the effort Tinwion the Elder put into it. Her leg had been bothering her since that tumble earlier at her amil’s and she wondered if it would ever recover fully. 

_I wish I could visit Grandma Miriel and see the tapestries of what happened during the Darkening but Aunt Findis says I am not to run off without her. I fear if she comes with me, I will never know what really happened. Aunt Findis will be busy gathering herbs for her potions and poultices. Perhaps I can ask Master Olorin or Aiwendil to walk with me to view the tapestries._

* * *

The morning of the tapestry-airing dawned bright and clear. Findis had risen at dawn to make her way to Yavanna’s pastures to seek healing herbs from the Valie’s fields and glades. Mornel called out for her Maiar friends but they were not present. Thus it was a solitary elfling who limped along to the Hall with the aid of her walking stick. 

She knew she was close when she noticed the change in the dress of the handmaidens. The white wimples of the disciples of Este and Irmo gave way to the indigo fillets and nets of Vaire’s maidens. She found the entranceway to the Valie’s Hall easily and slipped in unchallenged. She was not alone. For this one day a part of Vaire’s Hall was accessible to the living. Worried elves thronged the halls, seeking news from the tapestries of the fates of their kin over the sea. They were to be disappointed, for few tapestries displayed that day showed the events of the Hither Shores. Mornel did glimpse a particularly horrific one depicting the Flight of the Noldor over the Ice. Her uncle and cousins had gone over the Grinding Ice. She shivered. It was a fine piece of work and Mornel guessed her grandmother had a part in its making. 

There was another which showed ships burning in the distance as the Host of the Noldor watched. Mornel paused. She knew she was close. The crowd here was much thinner. The elfling hobbled along with the aid of her stick. She was so weary she did not notice when the rest of the elves departed. She noted a tapestry of the Oath, also skilfully embroidered. There was one of her uncle seeking the forgiveness of the Valar. Miriel’s touch was on them all. 

It was the red which caught her eye. Her heart thumped in her chest as she gasped in shock and horror. The tapestry was large, as large as the one of the Great Journey which hung in Tirion’s palace. In stark hues of red and black, the tapestry unflinchingly related the events. She read from the tapestry her atto’s arrival in Alqualonde, how he had sought out the crown prince there for the use of their ships. The prince refused and in the next panel, he had her atto’s sword sticking out of his chest. In a panic, she sought out the faces of her kin in the following panels. 

It was an uneven fight. The Teleri were lightly-armed with their bows and whatever weapons they could lay their hands upon at short notice. Feanaro’s forces were trained and girded for war with superior shields and swords forged by Noldorin smiths. Mornel whimpered. _There were children and women, caught up in the chaos on the docks._ There was a glimpse of her uncle Nolofinwe’s banner in the distance as he hastened to his brother’s aid. Thankfully, there was no sign of Arafinwe’s banner. The elfling forced herself to take in the scenes of slaughter. There were Tyelkormo and Curufinwe, cutting down foes left and right. Carnistir was in a corner running a Teleri archer through with his blade. Maitimo stood alongside his father, hacking down their foes. Behind him were the twins, their blades drawn but not yet bloodied. The expressions on their faces spoke of confusion. There was no sign of Makalaure in the panels. She found him towards the last panels, harp in hand, standing with head bowed among the corpses. 

Next she sought out her uncle and cousins. Of the Arafinwions there were no sign. She found Nolofinwe and his children caught in the fray as they rushed to their kin’s aid. Irisse fought alongside Tyelkormo and Curufinwe. Findekano guarded Maitimo’s flank. Finally, Mornel had to look away, her chest heaving. She retched, tasting the acrid bile in her mouth. Pityo had said their atto was mad. Pityo had seemed so kind and gentle in her dream-vision, _had he bloodied his sword like the others in the end?_ Mornel trembled. 

 _It could not be so! Her atto… her brothers…_ She seized hold of a corner of the tapestry and tugged but it was made of stern stuff and would not yield so easily. She screamed and yanked harder to no avail. Alarmed handmaidens came running at the ruckus. Hastily, they whisked the tapestry off to safety, leaving the distraught elfling behind. The chill of the halls seemed to seep into her very core. She fancied she could hear the unkind words of the Telerin ner, the Tinwions’ uncle. He had cause to be angry with her and her family… Her knees buckled and she sank onto the flagstones in tears. 

“It was not fit to be viewed by a young one like you,” a gentle voice chided. Reassuring arms wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. Mornel looked up into a familiar face framed by silvery hair bound back by a black fillet and net. Gentle silver eyes smiled at her as the nis helped her to her feet. “Come, the fresh air outside will do you good.”  

“Grandma…”

“Hush, I will send for some sweet tea to strengthen you. Our wine is much too strong for a child…”

* * *

 

Grandmother Miriel seemed so sad. _Was it because of Grandfather Finwe’s decision not to wait for her to leave Mandos and remarrying Indis? Or was it because of the things atto did?_ The sun beamed down upon them as they sat in the little walled garden outside Vaire’s hall. The sweet tea and sugary biscuits were delicious. Yet the elfling barely touched them, she had so many questions to ask but did not know how to start. Miriel’s presence calmed her considerably. 

“Mornel, so you have come to view the tapestries to find out more about your atar…” Mornel nodded and an awkward silence followed. 

“What was my atto like as a child?” Mornel ventured quietly. 

“Alas, you are better off asking the nurses who saw to him. He was but a wee baby when I left for Lorien,” the nis sipped at her tea. 

“Do you hate Grandfather Finwe for what he did- remarrying?” Her grandmother tightened her grip on her cup such that her knuckles showed white. 

“Perhaps I did. I was so weary I needed more time to heal. Instead of waiting, he had the gall to ask the Valar to break our bond so that he could wed the nis I have always looked upon as a sister. Yet…” 

“You weave the tapestries of his House,” Mornel blurted. 

“It was my request and Lady Vaire has granted it. It was difficult at first in Mandos but I managed. No, I do not hate him in the end. How ironic that when my husband and son are in Mandos, I am here re-embodied. Indeed, both Doom and Valar seem keen to part us… Oh, I believe we have a visitor.” 

Mornel blanched as she looked in the direction her grandmother was gazing in. She saw her Aunt Findis, wearing a scowl like thunder in the gateway of the walled garden. “Mornel Feanariel! Where have you been? Did I not tell you to stay in the hut?” 

“Princess, calm yourself…” Miriel coaxed as she stood up. She recognized Finwe’s eldest. Findis had inherited her father’s colouring and temper. 

“Aunt, but…” Rising from her chair, Mornel tried to apologize but Findis continued. She had been frantic when she returned to the hut to find her niece missing. Despite Lord Irmo’s assurances, Findis feared that some of the Teleri elves might seek to harm the child as a form of vengeance for their slain. It was by chance that she encountered Olorin during her search and was pointed in the direction of Vaire’s Hall. 

“You headstrong, wilful, thoughtless child… just like your atar! All you think of is yourself!” A resounding slap rang out. Mornel rubbed her aching cheek. Findis stared at her own hand, stunned by her own actions. She had not meant to hit Mornel. Mornel stepped back. Before either of the adults could react, Mornel ran past her aunt and out of the garden. 

“Mornel, wait!” The child ignored the cries of her elders and ran blindly. She ignored the brambles and thorny shrubs which tore at her when she lost the path under her feet. She kept running until her aching legs could no longer support her. Finally, she collapsed weeping into the grass.

* * *

_"Big brother…” Young Findis called out hesitantly to the lanky youth bent over his work. Her mother was in childbed and soon she would be a big sister. No more would her mother’s doting affection be hers alone. For a young elfling, the prospect was quite daunting. Finwe was sitting by her mother’s bedside but Findis was too young to be allowed within the birthing chamber. Feanaro was always a shadowy presence about the palace as far as the little princess was concerned. King Finwe doted on him and heaped praises on him. Finwe would play with his daughter but Findis supposed it was different for a princess._

_“Brother Curuf-“_

_“Never call me that.” Not to be put off by the rebuke, the princess approached. Ignoring her entrance, Feanaro was setting a shiny gem into an intricate little box._

_"_ _It’s pretty…”_

_"_ _It’s for atto, to cheer him up when  your amil gives him another ugly, stupid baby,” Feanaro sniped without looking up from his work._

_“I think our baby brother is going to look as handsome as atto…” Findis huffed._

_“He’s your baby brother, not mine. And he will end up looking like a monkey’s butt, just like his sister and probably much sillier… now get out of my room.”_

It had hurt and it still hurt. Findis knew she was not as pretty as her amil and never would be. Her younger siblings adored him. It was hard not to. Feanaro shone in whichever task he set his hand to. Nolo and Ara tried their utmost to gain their big brother’s approval as much they would their atto’s but it was never enough. Feanaro bullied them mercilessly with his words throughout their childhood. He often drove his stepmother to tears with his cutting remarks, especially when Arafinwe came along looking so much like a Vanya that it only took a few well-placed words for rumours about his legitimacy to start flying. 

Findis long conceded defeat in ever gaining her big brother’s approval. Her younger siblings never gave up. Nolo had been hurt when Feanaro drew a sword on him and accused him of scheming against him. They had all been hurt by Finwe’s decision to follow Feanaro to Formenos. During his regency in Tirion, Nolofinwe was constantly plagued with doubts about his ability to govern, just as Arafinwe still is as Noldoran. Lalwen could have done better for herself than that oaf of a guardsman she ended up with. Although matters of the heart cannot be so easily reasoned, Findis believed part of the rush was Lalwen’s fear that she would end up an old maid like poor Findis as Feanaro was so fond of reminding everyone at the rare family gathering he attended with his growing brood. Lalwen did have a son with her husband but that was the only child they had between them. Poor little Laurefindil was forever seeking refuge in the company of his cousins to escape his troubles at home. Lalwen’s feelings towards her husband were lukewarm at best by the time she and her son left Tirion with Nolofinwe’s host. 

 _Why had she hit the child? Perhaps for a split second there, it was not Mornel she saw before her but Feanaro._ A floodgate of rage had burst open then. It terrified her. _How could she continue raising Mornel with the love and affection she needed given the intensity of her long-repressed anger against Feanaro?_  

“Mornel!” 

Dusk was falling and there was no sign of the elfling. Miriel begged Lady Vaire for leave to join in the search for her granddaughter. The Valie was apologetic but insistent. Miriel had dedicated her life to recording the deeds of the House of Finwe and the Finwions had not been sitting idle over the Sundering Sea. Miriel’s skills were needed in the Halls. It would be up to Findis and whoever of Irmo’s Maia and helpers to search for the missing child. _Where could the child have gone off to?_ The forests of Aman might be free from dangerous animals but an unwary child might fall into a river or off a cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no canonic basis for Glorfindel (Laurefindil) being a cousin of Turgon or that Irime was married or mother of Glorfindel. The canonic facts are that Glorfindel was born in Valinor and was part of Turgon’s host. He was reluctant to leave but did so due to his kinship and loyalty to Turgon. He had no part in the Kinslaying in Alqualonde.


	13. A Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel is gifted with a companion courtesy of Lord Orome and Lady Vana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Orome gave Tyelkormo Huan the Hound. He never expected to lose another one of his beasts to a member of Feanor’s House.

It was a soft nose nuzzling her that snapped Mornel out of her troubled reverie. The elfling saw that she was deep in the woods and night had fallen. She was hopelessly lost. Warm breath tickled her neck. Mornel turned and saw a curious young horse looking down at her. The horse butted her gently with its nose, urging her to rise from the dewy grass. Judging from its spindly legs and gangly gait, it was still a yearling perhaps, yet it stood as tall as any of the horses in her uncle’s stables. Its coat was a misty-grey, so pale as to seem otherworldly even in Valinor. 

“Are you lost too, horse?” the elfling asked. The horse gave a shrill whinny in reply.  

“Fearocco! Where is that horse?” a loud voice boomed through the silent woods, startling both child and horse. The horse danced about Mornel in circles. A massive silver-pale steed stepped out of the shadows. On his back were a couple. The male was large and had fierce-looking features. He had a large hunting horn at his belt. His lady companion was petite in comparison, almost the size of an elf. She rode before him on the saddle. Her feet were bare and she was crowned with spring flowers. The yearling trotted up and greeted his sire Nahar with a cheerful whinny.

“I told you he would find her, isn’t that right, little one?” Vana slid off her perch and patted the yearling’s nose. “Come, your aunt must be worried. You have wandered far into my lord’s woods.”

“I can’t… They would not want me back, because of my atto…”

Lord Orome gave a huff of annoyance and his steed snorted beneath him. “Don’t be a fool, child. Your family is worried by your flight. Never mind about your father’s deeds,” he gruffly chided the child. Mornel quailed under his stern gaze. Lord Orome was much more imposing a figure as a Vala than the smiling Lord Aule or kind-mannered Lord Irmo.

“Don’t, you frighten her,” Lady Vana chided softly as she wrapped her cloak about the shivering elfling. “Still, it is not right that one so young should have to bear such a heavy heart alone. You said that yourself, my husband, when her brother first fled to your woods…”  _You took Tyelkormo under your wing and taught him all there is to know about the ways of the birds and beasts._ Lulled by the Valie’s comforting embrace, Mornel’s head lolled as reverie claimed her.

“It was a mistake, just as our brother Aule made a mistake with Feanaro…” he dismounted and helped his wife lift the sleeping child into Nahar’s saddle. Of all the Children, Tyelkormo had been his favourite. Eru, he had been fond of the silly boy from the moment he chanced upon him weeping in his woods, driven there by the unkind taunts of his playmates over his blond hair. It did not matter if his blond hair was from an unlikely act of adultery by his amil or a throwback to some distant fair-haired forebear, Orome had told his favourite student. Tyelkormo had been an eager pupil and Orome had chosen to reward him with Huan, the cream of his hunting hounds. As he blossomed into adulthood, he came to be known as Tyelkormo the Fair for his good looks, inherited from Curufinwe Feanaro. Orome had accused him of playing the peacock at times, strutting before all the wide-eyed nissi with golden tresses and roguish smile. How the poor ladies had vied for scraps of his attention then! If there was ever a gathering of ten or more swooning young nissi, he was certain to find his student in the centre of the group.

He had not dreamt that Tyelkormo would follow his father in their flight. Then again, Orome was only his mentor. Feanaro was the father whom Tyelkormo had looked up to since he first opened his eyes as an infant. Orome had tried to chase Melkor and Ugoliant over the Ice but it was too late. Lord Manwe had ordered him to turn back and forbade him from venturing out of Valinor’s confines. Only Lord Ulmo and his Maiar had the freedom of ignoring that decree. Orome had always enjoyed a certain kinship with the Firstborn but Tyelkormo was like a son to him. He was not going to make the same mistake with another elf-child again.

“We will send her back to her people,” Orome declared.

“And you will give her Fearocco for a companion,” Vana added. Orome glared at his sometimes wilful spouse. “It is not right that she should be so alone. Moreover, this child has a gentle heart and will care for Fearocco well.”

* * *

 

 _I do not know how I came to be back in Lorien. I now have a horse of my own, Fearocco, though he is too young to be ridden yet. I must thank Lord Orome for his gift…_  

Mornel put aside her journal and quill when Findis came in with Lady Este. It was important that she rested and healed. Her leg still troubled her at times but soon she would be strong enough to return to Tirion. Her amil had asked after her. There was a new addition to Lorien, a frisky young colt that seemed to be forever getting into mischief and annoying the poor healers. Fearocco was swift as the wind and some claimed that the horse ran at will from Lorien through Lady Yavanna’s Pastures and Orome’s Woods. The belief was that Fearocco had not been broken or tamed. As Nahar’s offspring, he was as strong-willed as his sire. It would be a rare Maia or elf who could take him in hand and many doubted a mere child could manage it. 

Yet in the dusk hours, the colt would wait patiently outside Mornel’s hut as she fed him apples and shared her fears and hopes with him. Findis’ duties and lessons often kept her busy, leaving Mornel alone. 

“I know Aunt Findis did not mean to hit me… I should have waited for her to take me to view the tapestries but she might not…” No one had brought up Alqualonde since her return to Lorien. It was a tacit agreement reached by her elders. They avoided mentioning her father or brothers too, although Nerdanel could be persuaded into sharing little anecdotes of her sons in her better days. She was steadily getting stronger. 

“I have read about the Silmarilli, the Oath and the Flight of the Noldor. I saw the tapestry on what happened at Alqualonde, but I do not know why anyone did what they did. Why did atto make that Oath, why did he rebel against the Ban of the Valar? Aunt Findis and Uncle Arafinwe have told me all that they would. Master Rumil, Amarie, and Grandfather too. I should not bother amil, not now. I should seek out Lady Eldalote and my law sister when I return to Tirion.” 

The colt tossed his head and whinnied as if in agreement. 

“I should go see the house where my family lived in Tirion, if it is still there… then maybe I can go to Formenos… I believe I will have to go to Alqualonde eventually…” Mornel scrunched her brow up. She knew what kind of welcome she could expect given the Teleri’s reaction to her in Lorien. “I don’t think Lord Aule or Lord Orome will be inviting me to their place and I don’t think I will be much of a smith or hunter. I don’t feel much like a princess. Perhaps I could try to be a healer…”

Fearocco shook his head and pawed at the grass.

“I hear loads of tales from Uncle about how my brother Maitimo and cousin Findekano were the best of friends, almost brothers. They used to travel the wilds of Aman together…” Perhaps she would still need a bit of woodsmanship if she was to venture out to Formenos. The keep had lain abandoned since the Darkening. She doubted anyone would be willing to accompany her, not even Grandfather Mahtan. The place was thought of as cursed by the Eldar, haunted by the ghosts of the Darkening. Some superstitious elves claimed that Moringotto’s evil tainted the place and Finwe’s unhoused fea wanders its halls still.

Mornel pottered about inside the hut sorting and keeping the bundles of herbs Findis had hung out to dry. The colt stuck his head through the open window and watched her. The elfling paused before a series of wooden figures. She thought to carve the likeness of her kin in wood to while the time away but her fingers lacked the skill. All she had were eight misshaped wooden dolls and several nicks on her hands, which she treated with a poultice of honey and lemon juice. Mornel gave a sigh and lined the dolls in a row on the window sill for the colt’s inspection. Fearocco’s ears twitched.

“This one is atto. Those two are my twin brothers… Here’s Tyelkormo…”

The horse butted one of the figurines off the sill. Mornel chided her colt lightly as she bent to retrieve the fallen doll, only to have Fearocco knock the rest of the dolls over on top of her like a group of skittles. The colt nickered at the elfling’s howl of outrage.

“Mornel, are you well?” Findis called out when she stepped into the house and saw the elfling sprawled on the floor rubbing her head amidst the scattered wooden dolls.

“Aye, aunt… I just bumped my head…”

“Really, I don’t know how we will get that horse back to Tirion… He is quite wild.”

“I think we could get him to follow us. He’s too young to be ridden. Someday I will ride him to Formenos…”

“Formenos? That place is surely nothing but a ruin now…”

“My family dwelled there once… May I help you with the herbs, aunt?” Mornel sensed her aunt’s reluctance to discuss Formenos and quickly changed the topic. She was not going to get her answers from her aunt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel is steadily growing into a more assertive phase of her life. I picture Fearocco’s role in Mornel’s life as similar to Huan’s to Tyelkormo, a four-legged sidekick of sorts, courtesy of a Vala.


	14. Back to Tirion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel's return to Tirion does not go as smoothly as one might wish and city walls do not agree with Fearocco.

It was close to the Festival of Flowers when Mahtan came to fetch his granddaughter back to Tirion. Mornel had recovered by then. How Mahtan had smiled and declared how tall she had grown since he last saw her. Mornel supposed it must be true, for her skirt hems were well above her ankles now. Findis packed her niece some cakes that she might eat along the long journey. Her aunt was to remain in Lorien to continue her studies. Fearocco trotted tamely behind the cart both smith and elfling rode back to the city, despite Mahtan’s initial misgivings. The colt simply refused to be bridled despite all Mornel and her grandfather’s coaxing.

He was sedate enough when they broke their journey, spending one night camping in a forest glade under the stars and another two at Mahtan’s home where Mahtan’s smiths loaded the cart with goods bound for Tirion - everything from kitchen knives and copper pots to delicate lamps. The colt gambolled about the glade where Mornel had spent many lazy afternoons.

It was only when they entered the city gates that Mornel’s horse started to whinny and stamp his feet nervously. Perhaps it was the confining walls rising about them, or the excited voices of Tirion’s curious elves as they took in the magnificent sight of what could only be one of Nahar’s foals. In the busy marketplace, Fearocco suddenly reared up and kicked over a fruit-seller’s basket of oranges. Several city guards came running. The harsh shouts and brandished spears alarmed the panicky colt and he reared up.

“Fearocco, no!”

Mornel leapt off the cart before her grandfather could stop her and stood before the panicked horse. The hooves came crashing down with the force of a sledgehammer. A red-haired nis ran out from the horrified onlookers and shoved Mornel out of the way. The pair tumbled into the gutter amidst the shouts of the guards and Mahtan’s bellowing voice.

“Mornel, what were you thinking?” The nis was Helwien. “That wild horse could have killed you…”

“Fearocco didn’t mean it, he’s just scared…” Mornel insisted. She cast a frightened glance to where her grandfather was trying to force a bridle on her horse as a dozen armed city guards fought to hold him down with their spears and ropes. Helwien muttered something highly unladylike under her breath as Mornel wriggled free from her grasp.

“Fearocco, please stop! I don’t want them to hurt you…” Mornel called out. “Please, let him go…” she begged the guards.

This time, Fearocco seemed to hear her voice and he ceased his thrashing long enough for Mahtan to slip the bridle over his head. The horse lowered his head and nuzzled the elfling almost apologetically.

“I know, I was scared when I first came… but it is alright…” Mornel cooed soothingly to the horse. She slipped the bridle off him. “I will walk with you to the palace…”

* * *

 

Mornel walked doggedly behind her grandfather’s cart with one hand upon her horse’s flank to reassure him. Helwien walked beside her while a half-dozen guards followed, half-expecting the horse to run wild again. The odd procession drew many curious stares, until they reached the palace courtyard.

News of his niece’s eventful return to the city had reached the Noldoran and he was waiting in the courtyard. A concerned Amarie and Eldalote peered out from one of the upper windows overlooking the yard.

Arafinwe was not too thrilled with Lord Orome’s gift to Mornel. Huan was a handful, even as a puppy. Tyelkormo did little to control his oversized hound. The pup would run riot through the streets and even the palace corridors, often with his master. Arafinwe’s younger children were often knocked clean off their feet by the exuberant hound. His eldest came close to losing fingers once when the hound’s jaws snapped about his hand as he tried to pull the monstrous hound off his terrified little sister. Thankfully, Kormo soon saw sense and refrained from racing through the palace or the city with his hound.

“Uncle?” Mornel sensed her uncle’s dark mood when they entered the courtyard. Using an apple, Mahtan and Helwien managed to lure Fearocco into the stable where a roomy stall waited.

“Mornel… I am afraid we have to return Lord Orome his gift. A city is no place for an untamed horse.” An ordinary colt would be tolerated, but a colt Fearocco’s size and strength could cause serious harm without meaning to.

“Please let him stay… He’s just new and…” Mornel pleaded. Arafinwe found himself looking away.

A ruckus from the stables interrupted their conversation. A stable ner came running, exclaiming that the new horse had gone wild and was fighting with the king’s favourite white stallion. Mornel immediately ran for the stables.

* * *

 

When they finally got both horses under control, it was decided that Fearocco would have to leave the city despite Mornel’s pleading. It was Helwien who reached a solution. The house Feanaro and his family lived in still stood in the smiths’ quarter in the shadow of the city walls. The workshops and the homes of the most dedicated artisans were located outside the city to prevent the noise and waste products of their labours from befouling the fair city. Helwien’s home stood some distance away in the weavers’ quarter.

“When your atar was exiled to Formenos, your amil bade me care for the house in their absence,” Helwien explained. “I told Carnistir I was not leaving my workshop without perfecting my new dye and he understood. I thought he would stay with me but he didn’t. Your amil came back after a while to continue her craft in here, before the Darkening…”

Many of the neighbouring houses still silent, their occupants having followed her atto into exile in Formenos and later over the sea. Their yards were overgrown with long grasses and weeds. For a while Mornel gazed mournfully at the half-hewn marble blocks in the yard of her family’s humble abode. Here a ghostly face seemed to be floating out from the stone. There a pair of faceless, shapeless figures clasped hands.

The small house seemed almost too tiny to have sheltered a family of seven rambunctious boys. Helwien unlatched the gate and Mornel walked her steed into the yard, there were several outbuildings behind the main house, two were no doubt her parents’ workshops. The last was a simple stable with stone walls and a turf roof.

“Your amil kept a dray horse there once, to help her cart her sculptures to her customers’ homes.” Her atto and brothers kept their horses in the royal stables when in Tirion where they were tended to by the royal grooms.  

Her law-sister then handed her the keys to the house and workshops. Mornel ventured within and was disappointed. Her atto’s workshop lay bare and dusty. Discarded tools were scattered in her amil’s. Most of the rooms in the house were shut up, and probably had been since the Darkening. Her atto and brothers had moved almost all of their belongings to Formenos when they departed on Feanaro’s exile. Only the heavy furniture remained behind shrouded in dust-sheets. Her grandparents had shut up their daughter’s room during the Darkening when it became obvious Nerdanel could not manage alone. All that remained of the once-bustling house was an empty husk.

Mornel nodded as Helwien explained what was required of her as a responsible horse owner. Fearocco had to be watered and fed. So close to the city, good pasture and clean running water was lacking. She would have to fill the water trough daily and bring hay and oats to the manger. She would brush his coat and mane of any burrs and clean his hooves as Master Aiwendil had taught her to do in Lorien. The cobbled streets were hard on a horse’s feet. Fearocco had to be shoed. It was a nerve-wracking wait for Fearocco to get his first set of horseshoes from an ancient farrier, Helwien’s own granduncle, who had made the Great Journey so long ago with Lord Orome.

* * *

 

“Nahar’s son, eh?” the elf-smith laughed. “I’ve no gold to shod you with, plain iron will have to do… I once rode on your sire’s back, when I was a wee elfling, younger than that little miss there…” The skilled farrier related of how as an elfling he and his playmates had wandered off from their parents and were set upon by dark creatures of Arda Marred and how the Great Huntsman had ridden to their rescue, snatching him from certain death. The ancient elf spoke fondly of how the great Vala had allowed him to ride before him on the saddle and how he had played games of tag and hide-and-seek with the little ones when the elves stopped to rest.

“But Lord Orome seems so stern…” The Vala Lord had scarcely acknowledged the elfling when she thanked him after her aunt brought her to his Lodge. It was Lady Vana who had smiled and gifted them with fresh flowers for their hut.

“The Darkening of Valinor and the Flight of the Noldor changed him. You see, like Lord Aule, his favourite disciple chose to leave- Tyelkormo left with his atto and brothers. Lord Aule has many favoured disciples, including Master Mahtan who chose to remain. Lord Orome? They say he no longer accepts new disciples and neglects those who remained in Aman. He was hurt when he learnt that not all the Elves would follow him and that some had turned back from fear. Perhaps he mourned the Children he could not lead into Valinor, lost to the Dark.”

“Do you seriously believe those who remained on the Hither Shores lost?” Mornel asked quietly. “The Valar bound Moringotto for three Ages…”

“But they left his creatures free to roam Arda. Young miss, my eldest brother turned back, reluctant to leave the forests of Arda… King Olwe’s brother Elwe was among the first Children to see the light of the Trees, yet he remained behind for the sake of love.”

“Was he not lost?” Mornel asked.

“Lost to love. I speak true, Miss. Though others may say otherwise. Five days’ ride to the southwest and a further three days along the mountain paths is a secluded vale where the eldest of the Children dwell. Some of those who are lost on the distant shores have been reborn and dwell among them- the Avari, the Nandor, and the Falmari who did not cross. My parents dwelt there. City life was not to their taste. There is an Avari elf who spoke of a King Thingol, his Maia queen and a realm protected by her magic. This elf ran afoul of wolves whilst hunting and was slain. He now frets as his second wife is living with him in the Undying Realm and his first might be set to join them should she fade or be slain. Of course, the ancient ways may not always be in accordance with the Valar’s laws but many there still cling to the old customs of Cuivienen… There, all done… A good night, miss.”

The farrier refused to be drawn into further conversation and Mornel led Fearocco back to her amil’s little stable and stabled him for the night. It was late and she had to hurry back to the palace. The smiths’ quarter was a great distance from the palace. It was as if her parents chose the house to be as far away as possible.

As she plodded wearily along, she pondered the words of the farrier. Elves were immortal unless slain, it would make sense that they join for life, even more so when there is a certainty of returning from Mandos. Among the Eldar, marriage was never taken lightly. Yet in Cuivienen, their forefathers knew nothing of Valinor or Lorien. If an elf lost his spouse, would he willingly take another, or spend the rest of his life alone, or fade from grief? _Was it possible for an elf to love more than once as Finwe did? Her grandfather had hailed from Cuivienen…_  Master Rumil knew the laws of the Eldar set by the Valar but might be unwilling to share his knowledge of the old ways. She had to find out more about the old ways from the ancient elves in their valley.

Mornel ruefully admitted there was much she had to find out. She groaned as she realised that she would have to juggle her lessons in the palace with her responsibilities caring for Fearocco and her plans to seek out the truth about her family. If only Fearocco was tame enough for her uncle to trust him in the palace stables…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel is setting out on a personal journey of sorts to find out about her family. Now you can think of her as being a young teenager, perhaps 12-13 in human years.


	15. More Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Master Olorin to dispense some of his wisdom as things get angsty in Tirion for the royal family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some minor changes where I have gotten the names messed up.

Arafinwe also had a firm talk with Mornel upon her return to the palace. It was agreed that she would continue her lessons under Amarie and Master Rumil. She would be allowed a few hours in the mornings and evenings to see to Fearocco’s needs. She was to return to the palace before twilight. A guard or page would accompany her on these outings. 

“Uncle, I am old enough to go about alone. In Lorien…” Mornel protested. With a chaperone, she would not be able to call on Helwien so freely. 

“We are not in Lorien, Mornel. It is for your safety…” Arafinwe insisted. Anaire’s actions against the child were unforgivable. She had confessed her actions to her horrified parents, who then came to beg the Noldoran to forgive their daughter. For now, Arafinwe had banned Anaire from the palace but not the city although her parents had offered to send her to an estate they held far from Tirion. Earwen would not be pleased to have her best friend barred from her home.  _Perhaps if Anaire is willing to let go of her unreasonable animosity towards Mornel…_  

“Uncle, please, could you spare some time to teach me a new melody on the harp?” Mornel ventured as she reached for her old harp. It seemed much smaller than she recalled. 

“Yes,” Arafinwe smiled. Mornel was outgrowing her small harp. In a few more turns of the sun they would need to get her a grown-up’s harp. He knew from his sister’s letters what had happened in Lorien and at Vaire’s Halls. Mornel had learnt of the horror of the Kinslaying and he regretted not being there to help her through it. She had spoken with Miriel though the elfling had not spoken of what passed between them. The elfling seemed more subdued yet… 

For an hour or so after dinner Arafinwe set aside his concerns and taught his niece an ode in praise of Lady Vana for the Festival of Flowers.   

“Uncle, are Grandfather Finwe’s atto and amme here in Valinor? Would they have known my atto?” Mornel asked when the time for bed drew close. 

Arafinwe started. He had never given serious thought to his grandparents. He knew Finwe was among the first Elves to set foot in the Blessed Realm. Finwe never spoke of his parents to his children. He might even be among the First Elves who awoke. Indis had told her children of her parents, Imin and Iminye, and how their uncle Ingwe was among the first elflings born under the stars. However, they had never met their foreparents, not even in Ingwe’s court. Surely all the Minyar made the journey, unlike the Tatyar and Lindar.

“I-I believe so… they might still be in Aman…” 

Mornel opened her mouth as if to speak but then thought the better of it. Her uncle would never approve of her travelling so far alone to seek out Finwe’s parents.

* * *

 _Mornel’s Journal_  

 _I have already spoken with Master Rumil and grandfather. They have nothing but praise for my atto’s achievements as a loremaster and smith. The Feanarion lamp I write by is proof of atto’s genius. Such lamps are still in use and greatly treasured, even in the houses of those who call my atto mad or fell. Uncle insisted we visit Aunt Anaire at her parents’ mansion. She would not meet us. I noted one of atto’s lamps there in the main hall. I am told my atto loved my amil and their sons dearly... before the Silmarilli were created and Moringotto sowed his seeds of doubt… The rifts opened then still linger… I pray that they may be healed…_  

Someone had thrown a stone at them as they left the mansion. It clipped the edge of her uncle’s cloak. It might have been aimed at the Noldoran, or it might have been meant for her. The guards wanted to search the houses from which the stone might have issued from but Arafinwe bade them return to the palace with haste. There were still supporters of Nolofinwe and Feanaro in the city, and others besides who might view Arafinwe as a usurper. 

* * *

 

Master Rumil had described after much coaxing the uproar which had followed the Valar’s judgement allowing Finwe to remarry. Miriel had her share of supporters, many of whom then became followers of her son. It was many years before Indis was accepted as Finwe’s queen. 

“Miriel was a renowned artisan. Mastery of a craft holds much with the Noldor and Tatyar of old. Also, she was very involved in the workings of the city. The Minyar had a reputation of being insufferably snotty back then. Indis’ only claim was her singing, her pretty face, and her ability to bear Finwe more children. She kept mostly away from the public eye and shut up in the palace. Nolofinwe took after your grandfather enough in looks and character to be accepted… Then there were the laws of the Eldar which the Valar set down for us.” 

“The laws? The ones which state that a union between the Eldar is until Arda breaks?” 

“Yes. That was one of the reasons I was against the remarriage. We were no longer the wild elves of Cuivienen by then to take mates however and from whoever we chose . The Eldar’s laws should be followed, even by the king, despite Miriel’s dying… Finwe was always impatient… She would have returned…”   

Mornel allowed her tutor to continue expounding on the Laws and their purpose for a while before continuing in the vein of a recital of history. Miriel and Indis were very different nissi. Miriel was headstrong and passionate. Indis was demure and gentle-mannered. Yet Finwe seemed to have honestly fallen for both of them. 

“Of course, there were other factors which might explain their judgement for a greater Doom… The union of Finwe with the sister of King Ingwe did serve to bring our people together when the clans seemed to be drifting apart, for a time at least. Similarly, Arafinwe’s union with King Olwe’s daughter…” 

“How did my atto feel about it?” Mornel piped up suddenly. Rumil winced. Feanaro did not take his atto’s decision well at all. There were tantrums and fiery quarrels between father and son. Feanaro had spent the day of the wedding cloistered in the library with only his tutor for company, flatly refusing to attend the ceremony. It would take six more months before Feanaro would deign to speak to his father. Afterwards, Finwe had tried to make it up to his eldest by allowing him liberties far beyond what a sensible parent would. 

“He did not take it well,” Rumil acknowledged. 

“I see.” This was no surprise to Mornel. She already knew her atto’s childhood was far from happy from conversations with some of the friendlier servants. Despite his father’s wishes, Feanaro could never accept his stepmother and his half-siblings. For a time, he shunned palace life and the privileges of his position for the refuge of Mahtan’s smithy and Nerdanel. 

“How was he like with my amme and brothers?” 

“Well, he was very happy for a time,” Rumil allowed a small smile to grace his lips. Despite the gossip and the scandal generated by the unusual match, the Crown Prince enjoyed great happiness with his common-born wife. For a while it seemed that the breach between Feanaro, his father, and half-siblings might be mended at Nerdanel’s patient urging.  _Had she not convinced Feanaro to attend Indis’ begetting day festivities, if only to show their first son to Finwe?_  Feanaro had managed to sit through dinner with nary a snide remark tossed at his stepmother or half-siblings. Not when little Maitimo was squalling for his atto’s attentions. Prince Arafinwe, a mere youth then, had even been allowed to hold the infant for a while.  

“Until  _he_ came…” Rumil muttered and turned away to take out a star-chart for their day’s lesson. The trouble started anew when Moringotto, formerly known as the Dark Hunter, was freed. 

* * *

 

“Why did the Valar free him? Did they truly believe he repented?” 

Olorin looked over to where his young friend was brushing Fearocco’s coat until it shone like Nahar’s. He had come into the city bearing Lord Manwe’s tidings to the Noldoran and ventured out to seek the young elfling he had befriended. He found her at Feanaro’s old compound in the shadow of the city wall. There had been some attempt to restore the place to a semblance of care, no doubt by Helwien and the others. The brightly-painted pots of golden elanor, red roses, and blue menelluin by the gate were no doubt gifts from Lady Eldalote and Amarie. However, they did little to dispel the sense of desolation which emitted from the dwelling. No one actually lived there now, apart from a horse. 

“Did the Valar believe his lies about repentance? Even as his creatures plagued our Elven kin who remained on the Hither Shores?” 

He was not mistaken. There was a hint of familiar fire in those eyes as she regarded the Maia. Fearocco nuzzled her shoulder and she patted his nose, allowing the brightness to dim a little so that she reminded Olorin less of Feanaro in one of his defiant moods. The Maia sucked in a deep breath to steady himself. 

“Not all were willing or ready to make the journey…” 

“I speak of Moringotto. If he had remained imprisoned, surely…” 

“Child, he could not be locked up in Mandos indefinitely. After all, he deserved a chance at redemption…” _Mornel need not know of Lord Manwe’s misplaced faith in his brother._  

“But he did many, many bad things!” Mornel insisted. She had heard tales of how he and his foul creatures had plagued Mahtan, Master Rumil, and their kin during that difficult journey despite Lord Orome’s guidance. “Why can’t they just lock him up forever? If he weren’t free to spread his lies, atto would not have…” she blinked away angry tears. 

“Why did Lady Nienna argue in favour of releasing him? Why didn’t Lord Manwe just listen to Lord Tulkas and leave him locked up? Why did Manwe insist that Grandmother remain in the Halls of Mandos when she did nothing to deserve… Why could she not return sooner when she was healed?” 

“Child, child… You have been reading in the palace library, have you not? I serve Lord Manwe but I do not know the reasons for all his decisions. All we can trust is that they are undertaken for a greater purpose in Eru’s Song. The Noldor may keep the best records but not all deeds and the workings of the heart and Doom can be captured in ink within dusty tomes,” Olorin sighed and patted Mornel’s head. Wearied by her outburst, the elfling turned her face against his chest and started weeping.

When Helwien came to fetch her back to the palace, the Maia waved her aside. Mornel needed to cry her frustrations out. The stars were up when her tears were finally spent. 

“Uncle will be angry. I am not to stay out so late.” 

“I will walk you back to the palace. He will understand.”

* * *

 “Lord Olorin, I apologize for the trouble she has caused…” Arafinwe started. 

“No need to. It was no trouble at all…” Olorin dismissed the apology. Mornel had been so exhausted she had fallen asleep midway through dinner and had to be carried up to her room by her uncle. Arafinwe had noted that she was still much lighter and slighter than any of his own children at that age. He had carried them in his arms on many occasions, especially his little Artanis, until she insisted she be treated as an adult and allowed to walk. 

“She is starting to question things, like her atar was said to do. I fear that what she finds will not bring her peace… She has been granted access to the archives for her lessons but I fear she might pry into other matters.” 

“She has inherited her atar’s inquisitiveness and astute mind, it seems. Now, Lord Manwe has heard your petitions. I bring his replies – First, to lift the Doom and allow your brother and people to return. Your petition is considered but the Doom will remain. Second, to end the union between you and Lady Earwen, daughter of Olwe – have you considered this matter seriously?” Olorin regarded the king. “Does your wife so wish it too?” 

“I know she wishes it as much she mourns her brothers and our children. She will not deign to receive me when I call on King Olwe all these years. Despite my law-father’s forgiveness, she will not forgive me the deeds of my people on the quays… Olorin, I am weary. The burden of this kingship is too much… Let Nolo return to take it, or have atto or Curufinwe freed from Mandos…” Arafinwe collapsed into a nearby chair, hand over his eyes. “Few of my subjects truly love me… I know I am nowhere as good a king or leader as my uncle, atar, or brothers… perhaps my people curse me for making such a mess of Tirion…” 

Olorin frowned. It was as they had feared. Arafinwe was pushing himself too far trying to live up to the high expectations Ingwe expected of his sister’s son and the high standards of his father that he was on the brink of collapse. Earwen’s continued estrangement was not helping.   

 _Rest, Noldoran, you need it…_ Olorin quietly flexed his fingers. Arafinwe’s eyelids fluttered and his head nodded. For a while he struggled but soon he was asleep. Perhaps Lord Irmo or Lady Este might be able to provide both balm and guidance for the beleaguered king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arafinwe is starting to buckle under the strain of the kingship and Mornel is starting to really question things as she grows into her tweens.


	16. Not in Dusty Tomes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every king needs good counsel to help him reign wisely. Arafinwe is trying his best but his courtiers are not helping much. Mornel finds out more about her brothers from her law-sister.

_Master Olorin told me not all answers are writ down in dusty tomes. Some questions have more than one answer, sometimes none. Sometimes the answer we seek is already there before us, only we do not see. Master Rumil uses his scrolls as a shield. He will not answer me freely of what is not already writ. Especially if he feels they are against the laws of the Eldar. I like Helwien. She reminds me much of Grandfather Mahtan with her honesty and forthcoming ways. She tells me Fearocco might be old enough to ride in a few more cycles of the Sun and advises that I learn to ride before then, starting with a tamer pony. She also speaks of having Fearocco properly tamed but he is already tame and used to the sounds of the city. I think Fearocco disagreed with her, for he chewed up the carrots from her marketing basket behind her back. She was so mad with him._

“Ai, my carrots…” the redhead nis gawped at her empty basket and then at the smug-looking horse. Fearocco seemed to be laughing as he tossed his head and gobbled the last carrot. Mornel had to bite her lip lest she burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry… I have not fed him yet this morning… I can go get some carrots from the kitchens- Cook will not mind…” Mornel hopped off the low wall she was sitting on and ran off towards the palace. She had wandered through the kitchens often enough to know where the stores were. A bushel of carrots would not be missed. Her uncle had spoken at length with the Chamberlain on the sheer wastefulness of stocking their larders well beyond bursting. There were fewer elves in the palace to be fed now, barring the occasional banquet or festival. It was not unusual for barrows of mouldy vegetables and stale bread to be tossed out at the end of the month. It was wasteful, but the farmers needed the palace to continue buying their harvests the same as during Finwe’s time, so the Chamberlain explained. It was tradition.

Mornel pondered the problem as she made her way back to the palace. There were fewer farmers now. She had seen how many farms ran to weed when travelling along the road from Lorien. Mahtan explained that many of the few Noldor farming households had left and that most of Tirion’s food had to be carted in at considerable cost from the Vanyar farms in Valmar. Aman might be bountiful, but crops still had to be harvested and the taxes in Valmar paid. The prices of basic necessities in the city were ridiculous. Even the Eldar needed to eat. There were fewer artisans to create the fine works which had been traded with the Vanyar and Teleri in the Years of the Trees, filling the city coffers. Helwien’s house had been fortunate in that her work was still much in demand, especially by the Vanyar. The noble houses were able to weather the prices with their deep coffers, for now. As for the less well-placed, there were grumbles as treasured heirlooms were grudgingly sold off. Many younger elves had left the city to seek work in Valmar. A Noldo was still not welcome in Alqualonde.

In Tirion, there was a House of Mercy where the least fortunate of the Eldar were housed and fed. It was started during the Darkening as a haven for elflings whose parents had left them behind without any guardian. Indis herself had been instrumental in its founding. Eldalote and her parents ran it now. Most of the elflings had already grown into adulthood and ventured forth. Instead, it now offered a thin broth and coarse bread twice a day to penniless hungry elves and shelter from the streets for those who had no home to return to, including several who had been maddened by grief but unable to make the journey to Lorien for healing yet. It was not unheard of for an Elf to endure and go about his business under the Sun for many years before a sudden and inexplicable collapse of all faculties. Some had compared it to Miriel’s weariness. None had been lost to Mandos yet.

* * *

 

_I know many are not pleased I am in the palace. I might ask Eldalote if I can help at the House of Mercy. I help wash the linens, sweep, and cook. I can stay there… It might be better for Uncle if I do not live in Tirion. Perhaps it may be best for me to return to Grandfather Mahtan’s. Perhaps he will teach me to work metal. But I will miss Helwien, Amarie, and Master Rumil. I also fear that Uncle…_

She had first noticed it at the Festival of Flowers, how weary the Noldoran sounded as he addressed the citizens. Arafinwe picked at his food throughout the banquet which followed and ate little. He barely listened as Eldalote chattered like a squirrel about the latest uniforms she was commissioning for the half-dozen or so needy elflings in the House of Mercy. Mornel had found by chance a nook in the royal archives from which she could listen in on any conversation in her uncle’s office on the other side of the wall where he held his meetings. Continued compensation had to be made for the loss of the ships and quays of the Teleri. Indis’ continued upkeep at Valmar had to be seen to. King Ingwe requested more of those remarkable Feanarian lamps for his palace. _Were there any more of those fancy jewelled toys for his collection? The grandchildren will so adore them._ There were taxes to be levied and a good many other demands. The city’s coffers were drying up. Sometimes Arafinwe would lose his temper and order a particularly tiresome noble out. When with her in the evenings, he tried to hide his growing despondency with strained smiles. Mornel played cheery little melodies on her harp then to lift his spirits.

Arafinwe was unspeakably lonely, devoid of his closest kin. Without his mother or sister to remind him to rest and eat, he was simply burying himself in work. Often, Mornel found herself dining alone while servants removed little-touched trays of food from the king’s study.

“Master Olorin, I fear he might just pass from weariness one day… He has been up at his desk all night…” Mornel explained as she fed her horse. The listening Maia nodded. Lady Earwen had failed to come to Tirion with the Telerin delegation for the Festival of Flowers. It might explain the Noldoran’s mood. The pair had pledged their troth during the Festival of Flowers two years before the actual marriage rites in Alqualonde in the bride’s home as per Telerin tradition. The Telerin delegation had consisted only of a haughty lordling and his clerk. Fair Amarie had been forced to flee from the lordling’s unwanted attentions halfway through the banquet. The lordling then kicked up a fuss until two burly guards escorted him to his room to ‘sleep off the drink’. Mornel was certain that Amarie’s parents would never inflict such a cad on her despite his claims to the contrary. A well-placed pike from the guardroom ensured their guest remained in his room until morning.

“I feel so useless…” Recently, Arafinwe had started to forgo those post-dinner chats and music, even when his niece sought him out. His step was slower now, and heavier than it should be. Olorin shook his head in dismay. Lord Manwe had hoped that having a young ward would help anchor the Noldoran and distract him from his worries but with Mornel’s earlier sojourn in Lorien and her growing independence, Arafinwe’s wounded fea had been allowed to fester with doubt and slip into loneliness.

“Sometimes I think he does not really see me… Do I need to throw myself down the stairs again?” There was a thoughtful quirk of Mornel’s lips.

“I most certainly hope not. Perhaps you should write to your aunt or grandmother Indis.” If Arafinwe should collapse, the Noldor would be left leaderless. Findis had already foresworn her rights as a noblewoman. King Ingwe might claim regency through his sister or King Olwe might be inclined to defend his daughter’s rights as the titular queen of Tirion. Or young Mornel might find herself suddenly thrust onto the throne, an unwitting pawn in the hands of various factions in Tirion. Aman has truly been Marred if that should come to pass.

“Few of the lords and ladies truly see or care that he is suffering… Lady Eldalote perhaps, Amarie… I wonder if Eldalote knows the funds for the House of Mercy are going to pay for her sister’s gown and the dowry for her wedding. I overheard her parents discussing it in the East Gallery…”

“Do you make a habit of eavesdropping on your elders?” Olorin gave the child a stern look.

“I didn’t mean to. They just didn’t notice me sitting behind that statue of Tulkas. I had a stone I had to get out of my shoe. The Chamberlain’s a sneak too. He has a cousin sell some of the kitchen stores at the market. I saw them and some guards carting off some cheeses and hams when I went to fetch some carrots for Fearocco. I hid behind a pile of potatoes until they left and overheard what they said about... Master Olorin, I am glad I can tell you this. Uncle will only worry and I don’t know what Amarie or Lady Eldalote will or can do…”

Olorin shook his head. _Thievery!_ Within the palace walls too. No wonder Lord Manwe was concerned enough to send him to Tirion. The Noldoran needed help getting his house and city back in order. 

* * *

 

_Helwien has told me much of how life used to be in the artisans’ quarter and how she and Carnistir met, arguing over some cloth at a draper’s stall. He mistook her for a ner, given she was wearing her work clothes then. She was highly flattered when he came courting. Atto and his sons were quite well-known by then. My brother wedded her some years before Atto was exiled and he followed him to Formenos. Helwien could not leave her business behind. They visited each other often at first…_

“Afterwards, I guess it became too bothersome. I cannot leave the dyehouse for long with my experiments and he was soon tired of making the trips from Formenos,” Helwien thoughtfully stirred a sample of a new dye. “We never had any children, a real pity…  Oh look, is that shade of green too pale?”

* * *

_Helwien did not know Makalaure’s wife well, save her name was Serelinde and she was a Telerin minstrel who dwelled with her parents in Alqualonde as was the custom of a Teleri bride until they bear their first child or twenty years have lapsed since their binding. I learnt a bit of Curufinwe’s wife, Quildenen, a daughter of Noldor artists. Many thought it odd that Curufinwe chose her when he was said to be the most ambitious of his brothers. Everyone had expected him to court a noble lady like Elenwe or Eldalote. Instead he chose a meek mouse from an artists’ family, so Helwien told me. Maybe he loves her the same way atto fell for amme._

“I guess he figured he could boss her about, being the timid little slip she was. Swept her off her feet. She was such an obedient daughter, forever listening to her parents. So it was a shock when she went to Formenos with Curufinwe instead of staying in Tirion like her folks insisted,” Helwien shrugged and stretched lazily after bending over the vat stirring for so long.

“You don’t like Curufinwe?”

“No, I don’t like him much. He is, well, like a chameleon. He can fit in with any company – court and forge. He plays as if he is everyone’s bosom friend but his loyalty is to his atar. Some elves are a bit, well, sneaky and Curufinwe was one of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Quenya Name generator on Elffetish  
> Serelinde- peace singer  
> Quildenen – quiet water


	17. Lady Earwen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arafinwe receives a surprise visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit a bit of old writer’s block about how Mornel was to help Arafinwe realistically. She’s still awfully young and naïve for an Elf.

Arafinwe needed aid urgently. As advised by Olorin, Mornel had sent word to Indis in Valmar via Helwien’s trusted apprentice, and Findis in Lorien via Amarie’s visiting cousin Emmeline. They had to take both nissi into their confidence. They could not trust the Chamberlain. Amarie roped in Eldalote’s aid and the Noldoran’s law-daughter was distraught to discover that she had not been mistaken as to the irregularities in the funds received by the House of Mercy. The noblewoman had never dreamt her own parents capable of such thievery.

Indis sent no word initially. Amarie’s cousin had not managed to hand the letter to the dowager queen personally but surrendered it to a guardsman at the gate. King Ingwe had given instructions that his kinswoman be left in peace to mourn her dead lord. Mornel immediately regretted her harsh words in the letter with regards to the High King Ingwe’s constant demands for payment for Indis’ upkeep and tribute from Tirion. Helwien’s apprentice returned with bad news. Findis had gone to the Isle of Este to further her studies in healing and could not be reached. Lord Irmo’s Maiar promised to request their master send the Noldoran soothing dreams to give him ease.   

Helwien had a head for numbers and management. After some hours alone with the palace’s accounts courtesy of Mornel, she had discovered more evidence of fraud and theft by other members of the palace household staff and nobles. It was a sombre meeting of three nissi, an elfling, and a Maia in the palace archives.

“Who can we trust?” Mornel asked. “Mayhaps Master Olorin could give us some advice. Master Rumil is not much aid outside his scrolls.” She had broached the topic with her tutor but Rumil did little more than to advise his student to refrain from meddling in matters well beyond her years. He had assigned her an essay on the history of the development of Aman up to the Darkening and she knew she would be spending the next few nights poring over the old tomes for her homework. Her tutor clearly felt it best she concentrate on her lessons at her age.

“Alas, not even the Valar are omniscient. Not even they could know the heart of every single elf…” Olorin admitted wryly. Helwien snorted.

“If they did, they would not have bothered asking if my law-father would surrender his precious jewels. That aside, I don’t know much about the workings of the court. In my house, if a worker does not wish to apply himself to his duties, he is free to seek other work elsewhere. I would recommend someone fire some of the thieves in the kitchens…”

“As a Vanya, I am not well-versed with the politics of Tirion’s nobles. Though I must concede that they are as fractious as any in Valmar,” Amarie admitted.

“Many of the nobles who served the late king Finwe cast their loyalties behind his two eldest sons. Many a noble house left Aman that dark day. Of those who did remain, many lost their desire to continue in their posts bereft of their children and colleagues,” Eldalote added quietly.

“Then we must seek them out. The city needs their wisdom and guidance,” Helwien declared and made to rise.

“You can’t just go knocking on their doors!” Eldalote put a restraining hand on the redhead’s arm. “I will seek those I know out. I only wish I had learnt more of the court from my husband before he left…”

“Aunt Anaire,” Mornel breathed. “She has been deeply involved in the court through my uncle Nolofinwe. She would know who is trustworthy.” As regent, Nolofinwe had involved his wife in the running of the city, deferring to her wisdom especially in matters of trade and treaty.

“That nis almost killed you!” Helwien snorted. “And she hates your uncle and father both.”

“Still, Tirion is her home and the home which her children will return to if the Doom is lifted. Perhaps she could be persuaded…” Amarie murmured thoughtfully.

Further discussion was disrupted by a heavy thud coming from the Noldoran’s study next to the archives. Excusing himself, Olorin hastened to see the cause. He returned with a grim look on his face.

“Mornel, fetch the healer. I am afraid King Arafinwe has been taken ill.”    

With Helwien’s aid, Olorin managed to bear the unconscious Arafinwe to his bedchamber where Eldalote and Amarie had prepared the bed with comforters and warm heating stones to receive the patient. Mornel soon came with the healer.

* * *

The following days were hard on Mornel as she was excluded from the visits carried out by Master Olorin and Eldalote to various Noldorin nobles. News of Arafinwe’s collapse spread like a wildfire and rumours added fuel to the flames. The king has fallen to his grief and faded. The Vanyar were going to return to rule Tirion. The Teleri had poisoned the Noldoran for the Kinslaying. All had to be nipped in the bud before things grew out of proportion. Mornel and Amarie stayed by Arafinwe’s sickbed, waiting for him to awake.

On the fifth day of his collapse, Lady Indis and Lady Findis arrived in Tirion and immediately took over the care of the Noldoran. Indis had received Mornel’s letter and confronted Ingwe over the exorbitant payments the Vanyarin court had demanded of the Noldoran for her upkeep at his palace. There had been a terrific row and Indis decided to return to Tirion for good, or until she forgave her elder brother.

The weeks which followed were given to reforming the Noldorin court. Lady Indis personally made an appeal to Lady Anaire and many other nobles who had retired from court life by choice or dismissed by the Noldoran during the Darkening. The chamberlain was given notice while Eldalote’s parents were given a stern warning by Lady Indis over their attempt at embezzling funds from the House of Mercy. Lady Anaire’s father, the one-time chamberlain under King Finwe, was re-appointed to his former post. He had resigned his post during the regency of Nolofinwe at his wife’s urging that it was not proper he took a household post while his law-son was regent. At least he should be given a generous estate outside Tirion to spend his eternal life in ease. Frankly, the poor ner was half-mad with boredom by the time the Darkening came about. The only reason he did not join Nolofinwe was because his lady wife had the foresight to lock him in the armoury until everyone else had gone.  

There were grumbles of unhappiness, of course, especially from those nobles and palace staff caught thieving from the palace and city coffers and dismissed by Indis, acting on her son’s behalf. Her law-daughter Anaire and Anaire’s parents were of great aid during those difficult days. Master Olorin was often on hand to provide the dowager queen with sound advice from his master Lord Manwe. A good many of those dismissed were then sent out to the abandoned Noldorin farms to till and harvest the land as penance for their past misdeeds.

After she was re-instated to the Noldorin court, Anaire set about negotiating a new trade agreement with the Vanya. The valley lands of the Noldor were every bit as fertile as any Vanyar farm, and perhaps even more so than the thinner soil of the uplands of Valmar. A store of grain would be set up to feed the needy and administered by a minor but trusted Noldorin lord – Irime’s husband, Turcaranco. The former quartermaster of his troop was more than willing to accept the new post.

“Being Lord of the House of the Golden Flower was fun for a bit, but give me some decent hard work! Fancy titles never really suit me to begin with,” the pragmatic ner nodded sagely. Despite his gruff manner, Mornel sensed he was more than happy to find something to take his mind off his absent loved ones, just like Lady Eldalote.

Slowly but steadily, Arafinwe recovered.

Mornel found herself quickly overlooked by her elders in the activities of setting the court back to rights. She was but an elfling after all. She spent time caring for her horse, working at her lessons and spending time reading or playing her harp for her uncle. Findis had deemed Arafinwe fit enough to sit up for a few hours every day but he must refrain from over-exerting himself. Mornel was still wary of her Aunt Anaire but for a now a truce was reached. When their paths did cross on the rare occasion in the halls, the nis would return the young princess’ polite greeting with a chill smile.

* * *

 

“Findis mentioned you met Anaire in the library this morning…” Arafinwe asked with concern as they sat in the garden, enjoying the sunshine. It was a shared pastime which they had grown to partake in every afternoon. Mornel’s winged friends often brought amusing tales to share about the city and beyond, tales that made Arafinwe smile.

“She was too busy looking up some old trade agreements Grandfather had with the Lindar…” Mornel replied. “Would you like a song? It is lovely weather for music…”

Arafinwe smiled. “Thank you, Mornel. Could you play _The Swan Ballad_ for me, please?” Mornel nodded and plucked at her harp strings.

“It should have been Findarato or Artanis sitting here with you…” a voice cut in sharply. Unnoticed, a beautiful nis with silvery hair had stepped into the gardens.

“E-arwen!” Arafinwe stood up but the effort proved too much for him. He stumbled. His niece hastened to support him. The nis stepped forward, considered for a fraction of a moment, and then turned as if to leave the way she had come.

“Earwen, please stay, let me speak!” Arafinwe hurried towards his wife. “Why do you go now that you have returned here?”

“My father sent me here to discuss trade with my friend Anaire, not for your sake, Noldoran. Until the Doom is lifted from our children’s heads, before that comes to pass, I have nought to say to you,” Earwen snapped, her head bowed and fists clenched at her side.

“Lady Anaire receives the envoys for trade agreements in the Glided Hall of the palace. You would have passed it on the way here…” Mornel volunteered. “His Majesty is weak from exhaustion and grief both, Lady Earwen. Your presence here will be a far stronger balm… more so your love-”

“You misjudge me, princess. Despite what you claim, my love for him is long gone.”

With those parting words, Lady Earwen spun on her heel and strode hurriedly away from the garden as her husband wept bitter tears. Somehow, Mornel thought the shine in Earwen's eyes as she hastened away was more than simply the light of a nis who had seen the Light of the Trees.

* * *

“Lady Earwen is a proud princess of her people,” Amarie explained some days later to Mornel as they gathered roses in the garden. “She has her pride, perhaps even more so than Anaire.” Amarie had been waiting attendance on Lady Indis as she and Anaire signed the new trade agreement with their neighbours. Princess Earwen had never participated much in the political and trade discussions before or now. She had excused herself in the midst of it and did not return until it was time for the party to leave the palace. Indis had discreetly written to King Olwe of her son’s condition and the King must have relayed it to his only daughter.

King Olwe had long forgiven the Noldor who remained in Aman. _Why should an entire people be punished for the misdeeds of a few? Those few being already punished by the Doom?_ It was his quiet wisdom which had ensured a truce. If it had been King Ingwe who was thus wronged, Valar or not, there would have been a Vanyarin army storming through Tirion. The continuing estrangement of Arafinwe and Earwen was a gaping wound and an uneasy reminder to all of the Darkening.

“She came to see him because she cared, but left him with harsh words instead? They hurt her as much as Uncle…” Mornel murmured as she picked a daisy. She glanced up and spotted a familiar Maia approaching them.

“Master Olorin, why is that so? Amil loves atto and came close to fading because he left… Aunt Anaire loves Uncle Nolo but they say she bossed him about… Then Grandfather Finwe loved both Grandmothers Miriel and Indis…” There was Amarie and Cousin Findarato too, but bringing him up now would upset Amarie.

The Maia only smiled. “Love can be a strange thing. You are still young, Mornel. Sometimes it hurts.”

“Will Aunt Earwen return, for Uncle’s sake?”

“I do not know, Mornel. She has great pride. She declared she will not return to him so long as their children are under the Doom…” Olorin replied.

“I really wish Findarato were here, he would know how to get them back together,” Amarie murmured as she snipped a rose from the bush. “Oh, Lady Indis intends to return to Valmar for a visit and make her peace with her brother now that His Majesty has recovered sufficiently and the court is running properly. She wishes me to accompany her but my parents…”

“How are those riding lessons coming along now, Mornel?” Olorin asked mischievously. “Perhaps it would be a good time for Fearocco to visit the lands of his birth.”

Helwien had obtained a docile pony for Mornel to take her first riding lessons on. It was a bit awkward at first riding astride in skirts but Helwien insisted that that position allowed her to better control her steed than the more ladylike sidesaddle style most noble ladies preferred. Eventually, Mornel took to wearing leggings under her skirt for riding. She dared not ride Fearocco yet as he was so big compared to the small pony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turcaranco – Strong Arm in Quenya (Elffetish. net), in this fic, he is the common-born husband of Irime (Lalwen) and father of Laurefindel (Glorfindel) who remained in Aman. 
> 
> Next up, a visit to Valmar?


	18. Riding Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fearocco is proving a difficult horse and Helwien suffers for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing readers a Merry Christmas and Happy 2015.

The plans for Lady Indis’ visit to Valmar were progressing well. Letters and messengers were sent to and from Valmar. Mornel was looking forward to it. She had not had a chance to visit Valmar yet. She had heard so much from Amarie about the city on the foothills of the holy mountain where Lord Manwe dwelt. There were many bells which musically chimed the hours for prayers to the Valar. The Light of the Trees shone the brightest there before the Darkening and the power lingered still. The air was fresher. Trees and greenery were everywhere, unlike in the marble city of Tirion. The streets were paved with green grass and interlocking trees formed passageways from garden to garden. The houses were of precious gold, silver, and bronze. Despite the proximity to the snows of Taniquetil, the climate in the foothills was still mild enough to go about in light sandals and muslin robes.  

Despite her own misgivings, Amarie had volunteered to accompany Lady Indis to Valmar on the slopes of Taniquetil. She was apprehensive given that she would be meeting her parents again and be subjected to their attempts at coaxing her to choose another over Findarato. Findis was not going to accompany them. Arafinwe needed her care still. His meeting with Earwen had brought on a relapse of his depression. There was much misunderstanding between Arafinwe and his wife, Findis had acknowledged.

“Anaire has written to Earwen in the past, since the Darkening. We fear she might have influenced Earwen with her own grief and bitterness, unknowingly or otherwise,” Findis suggested to Indis over dinner, quite forgetting the quiet elfling in their midst. “She accuses him of forgetting their children…” 

“It’s not true. Uncle has not forgotten Findarato or Artanis, or Aikanaro and Angarato…” Mornel said. Her heart sank as understanding dawned on her. “I am not them… will it be better if I am not in Tirion…” 

“No, never think that way, Mornel,” Indis admonished. “You are you… Now, finish your dessert. I am sure Master Rumil has given you some assignments today you should get working on.” 

* * *

 

“Are you sure you wish to ride Fearocco to Valmar just because a Maia says so?” Helwien folded her arms with a doubtful look on her face. “He’s no pony.” 

“I am sure there will be room in the coach…” Amarie added. 

The nissi had walked the horse to a small glade some distance from the city as rumours of Mornel’s riding Fearocco had drawn curious elves to her family’s home. The horse was not pleased to be treated like some curiosity. Here at least, there was less chance of the horse being spooked or disturbed by thoughtless elves.  

Mornel only bit her lower lip as Fearocco shrugged the saddle off his back before she could fasten it. He refused to have anything to do with saddles or bridles. 

“You could try to ride bareback. The same way the Eldar did before the invention of the saddle, stirrup, and bridle. Still, horses can be so easily spooked. Perhaps it would not be wise to ride him just yet,” Amarie volunteered. Fearocco snorted and pawed at the grass as if he understood her words and wished to convey his disdain. Amarie had tried speaking to Fearocco in the manner the Vanya used to train their steeds but he was not responsive to her methods. Mornel would be better suited to speak with her steed but most of the Noldor were not particularly in tune with Yavanna’s creatures. Mornel could pass the time of the day with sparrows and ravens but a horse was another matter. Master Aiwendil had offered some advice on how to speak with a horse, but communicating with horses was never his strength. 

“Let me try riding him first,” Helwien volunteered. She had ridden often with Carnistir and his brothers on their hunting trips back in the Years of the Trees, before Feanaro’s exile. Findis had sent several of the palace stable hands to try breaking Fearocco but the horse outlasted them all. Often the horse sent his would-be tamers back with bruises. The horse was proving to be both shrewd and stubborn. He would allow the luckless ner to saddle him but gallop away when a foot was placed in the stirrup, leaving the poor elf face down in the dust. Perhaps Helwien would have better luck. 

Helwien glared at the horse. Fearocco tossed his head. Still he allowed the redhead to slip both bridle and saddle on him. The moment she placed a foot in the stirrup, the stallion reared up on his hind legs so that the poor nis was yanked unceremoniously off the ground before being slammed into the trunk of a nearby tree hard enough to knock her out. Having disposed of his would-be rider, the horse nickered and trotted off a short way before turning to look at his handiwork. 

“Fearocco!” Mornel screamed at the horse. Helwien was coming round with a groan. Her brow was gashed and bleeding. Her leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. More worrisome was the dark stain which was spreading on the grass under her. Amarie immediately set about ripping the hem of her gown and trying to staunch the spurting blood. Mornel felt her heart sink when she saw how the shattered bone stuck out of the flesh of her law-sister’s leg. The force of the impact had snapped the bone and forced it through the skin. Mornel could only stand there helpless in shock. 

Fearocco snorted and nudged Mornel with his nose, as if ashamed by his causing Helwien hurt and now was seeking forgiveness from his mistress. 

Mornel did not know how she managed to climb into the saddle. She was not even thinking as she wound her tiny hands into Fearocco’s mane and dug her heels into his sides. All she knew was that she had to get help for Helwien fast. 

“Mornel!” Amarie screamed as the horse seemed to run away with the elfling on his back. 

* * *

 

 _Tirion, the healers- Aunt Findis… They would know what to do…_ The elfling thought as they galloped towards the city gates. She did not notice that they had closed the distance far sooner than a normal horse could. The gates were being barred against them by guards startled by their hasty approach. Mornel clung on tightly as Fearocco reared up and kicked the gates open, sending the hapless guards flying. 

“Fearocco, enough!” Mornel shouted. She did not want anyone else hurt. Fearocco relented, dropping his forelegs back to the ground and glancing over his shoulder at his young rider. 

 _Where to, princess?_ The large horse seemed to ask. The elfling took in a deep breath to steady herself and tugged at his mane. The reins were hanging too far out of her reach. _Palace healers._ Mornel thought, her throat too hoarse from fear to speak. The horse shook his head and trotted off at a steady pace. The commotion at the gate had drawn the attention of the city’s elves and they peered from their windows and the sides of the streets as Mornel passed. 

“Irisse?” Lady Anaire leapt to her feet at the sight of the dark-haired girl on horseback trotting into the courtyard before she realized it was Mornel. 

“Helwien has been hurt. We need the healers! She’s bleeding… Where’s Aunt Findis?” the elfling pleaded tearfully. Anaire bit back the cutting remark she had on the tip of her tongue.

“Findis is in the Hall of Healing teaching the apprentices. I will fetch her. You, young lady, look a mess and are definitely not fit to walk the palace halls.” How many times had she said the same to her daughter? Anaire hastened to fetch Findis. Mornel peered at her reflection in the courtyard fountain. Her braids were all askew and her face was dusty from the hectic ride. Her sleeve was torn. Mornel plucked a stray leaf from her hair. Before she could re-do her braids, Findis came running with Anaire and a healer on her heels. A pony was readied for Findis to ride on. 

Going at a slower pace now, Mornel led her aunt and the healer to where Amarie and Helwien were. A cart was needed for Helwien as she was unable to ride due to her broken leg. It was much later after they returned to the city that she wondered at how she had actually ridden Fearocco and seemed for a moment to be linked to his mind. She tried to speak to her horse mentally afterwards but he paid her no heed. He continued chewing his oats even as Mornel focused on the image of feeding an apple to him if he would just walk up to her. 

* * *

 

 _Perhaps I was too long under the sun. Still, I think that he spoke to me and I to him._ Mornel regarded the words she had written in her journal. _I pray that Helwien recovers soon. I feel bad she got hurt trying to tame Fearocco…_  

“It’s called osanwe,” Amarie explained later when Mornel asked. “It is thought-speaking. However, few of the Eldar are gifted in that field even in Aman. Often, such communication occurs between those bound by marriage, strong friendship, or blood. However, there are no records of oswane with an animal… although some are said to share their minds with their beasts, including your brother Tyelkormo with his hound.”   

Helwien would recover, but for now she was bedridden, much to her chagrin. She had to lie abed and leave the work at the dye-house to her workers instead of overseeing the myriad tasks like she was wont to do. She had lost much blood and her fractured leg would need to rest to knit properly. 

“If it sets badly, you will be limping about for the rest of your eternal life,” Findis warned. Pouting, Helwien promised to rest in the House of Healing until the healers deemed her ready to return to her work. Mornel brought fruits and gossip to her ward to keep her spirits up. Helwien related tales of her time with Carnistir and his brothers in return.

* * *

 

“Did atto really do that?” Mornel asked after a particularly funny story.

“Aye, he did. He was so caught up in his work, he forgot the time. Everyone was waiting for him so that we could go to the festival together. There was no time to change so he wore his work-clothes to the festival. King Ingwe was visiting your grandfather Finwe, and he was a little tipsy. He mistook your atto for a servant and ordered him to bring more wine. Of course, your atto brought the wine for King Finwe but emptied King Ingwe’s goblet over his head,” Helwien chuckled. “It was horribly childish and unbecoming of a crown prince. Of course, it was amusing to see King High-and-mighty Ingwe’s face then.” 

“What is he like, the High King of the Elves?” Mornel asked. 

“Well, he is haughty and he seemed to be very formal when I saw him at the festival when he visited Tirion to call on his sister and law-brother. They say he keeps to his palace in Valmar and mingles with his people only as needed for formal ceremonies, nowhere as approachable as King Finwe or King Olwe. Your grandfather would dance in the street with the citizens during festivals. They said King Olwe and his family would walk along the piers of Alqualonde speaking with the fisher-folk like old friends. I can’t see Ingwe doing any of that…” 

“Does King Olwe still walk along the piers, after the Kinslaying?” Mornel swallowed hard. 

“I do not know. Few of the Noldor have been to the Telerin city since then. Perhaps he still does. How is that accursed horse?” Helwien winced as she jostled her leg against the foot of her bed. “Be sure to have someone close when you ride him…”

“Fearocco? I am riding him now, with Amarie’s help. I can use the reins and saddle, just like with the pony…” Mornel smiled.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fearocco’s talent is his speed and limited ability at oswane (thought-interchange) with his young mistress. Some insights into the kings of the Eldar


	19. The High King of Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel's first official visit to Valmar and the capital city of the Vanyar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel’s first official visit to Valmar with Grandmother Indis. She makes more of an impression on King Ingwe than she means to.

They heard the bells before they saw the first of the gilded roofs. Fearocco nickered as Mornel shifted her weight. Aunt Anaire had insisted she ride sidesaddle when entering Valmar and Grandmother Indis had concurred. It was not proper for a young noble lady her age to show off her legs in leggings and she could not possibly ride with her skirts hitched up astride her steed. Amarie had demonstrated the technique on her palfrey before they left Tirion. She rode alongside Mornel to keep her company. Lady Indis shared the royal coach with two unwed Vanyarin ladies-in-waiting who had been her constant companions since her marriage to Finwe. 

Valmar was a different type of city. There were no encircling walls. There was no glowing white tower overlooking the surrounding countryside as in Tirion. The golden bell tower of Valmar was almost modest in comparison. Lord Manwe’s holy mountain with its snowy peak dwarfed over the city. The gardens and paths were every bit as beautiful as Amarie had declared. There were tiny jewel-like birds which flitted from blossom to blossom. Mornel took an immediate interest in the tiny creatures. 

“It is the noon-bell, for prayers to Lord Manwe,” Amarie explained. Mornel nodded. Fearocco was trying to keep his pace steady so as not to jostle his mistress. However, Fearocco was no palfrey built for gentle ambling. He was a horse meant to ride like the wind and Mornel could sense his growing restlessness during the journey. Free of his pen, he wanted to gallop and leap. It would never do to have him run off and hold up the rest of the entourage. 

 _Later, Fearocco…_ Mornel silently promised. _Later, we will go galloping in Lord Orome’s woods…_ as soon as they were done with the official part of the visit. Indis had explained to her the customs of the Vanyarin court. There would be a formal audience with King Ingwe in the Golden Hall of his palace. The king and his entourage would meet Indis and her party at the Gate of Golden Oaks where they would be announced. Following Amarie’s lead, Mornel and the other riders had dismounted at the gate and stood as the herald launched into the formal welcome speech on behalf of his master. 

King Ingwe cut an impressive figure in his glowing white robes, blue mantle, and golden crown. His entourage were garbed in garments of similar style but lesser finery. A handmaiden assisted Indis in dismounting from the coach. Indis wore a silken cape over her usual white gown. She wore her circlet on her brow, pronouncing her as a queen. She dropped a formal bow to her brother, who replied with a curt nod. There was little warmth in the exchange. Mornel wondered if the king ever smiled. There was a golden-haired woman crowned with a silver veil by his side – his queen. An elf with a striking likeness to him stood beside her- Ingwe’s only child and crown prince Ingwion of the Vanyar. Ingwion moved forward as if to embrace his aunt but checked himself at a discreet cough from his father. He gave a nod to his aunt. Servants moved to take the horses of the visiting Noldorin entourage. 

It was when a servant reached for his reins that Fearocco, who had been so sedate throughout the ceremony, suddenly reared up and whinnied. The alarmed ner backed off. The commotion drew a glare from the High King. For a moment, Mornel thought he was going to ban the horse from the royal stables. Instead, the queen placed a soothing hand on Ingwe’s elbow. 

“Ingwe, your mare would be pleased to see her son again. I am sure the elfling can take care of her steed as well as any of the stable hands.” 

The High King frowned, but he had no words to gainsay his queen. Silently, he spun round and left with his entourage. Leading her steed, Mornel followed the stable hands to the stable where she watered and brushed her steed until his coat shone. She combed out the tangles and burrs from his mane and tail. A tall grey mare was led into the stall next to his. Fearocco neighed with joy and leaned over to nuzzle the mare. The mare whinnied and nuzzled him in return. 

“Is that your mother, Fearocco? She’s pretty…” Mornel smiled to watch the reunion of mother and son. She decided to leave the pair alone to catch up with each other. She found her way back to the Gate but none of the Noldorin entourage was in sight. Instead, Prince Ingwion was there feeding one of the jewel-like birds from his hand. She clumsily dropped a curtesy like she had been taught. 

“Prince Ingwion… Beg your pardon, but do you know where Grandma Indis and Lady Amarie…” 

“Princess Mornel, it is for that purpose I have waited here and please, dispense with formality when my father’s not around,” Ingwion smiled as the jewel-bird flitted towards Mornel and hovered a few inches from her face. The elfling giggled as the bird darted away into a rose bush. 

“This way,” the prince pushed open a wrought-iron gate and ushered Mornel into a corridor lined with fragrant flowering plants. They then turned the corner onto a terrace. Ingwion turned off into one of many bronze doors leading from the terrace. It led into a cosy-looking room where King Ingwe sat in a high-backed chair with an open book in his lap and his bare feet propped up on a footstool. 

“Ingwion, this is a private chamber…” Ingwe admonished and scowled at being caught in so undignified a position. “Meant only for family…” he indicated Mornel. 

Cheeks burning, Mornel darted behind Ingwion. The crown prince shrugged. “Mornel is family, father. She is Aunt Indis’ grandchild and she is going to join her grandmother in her rooms…” he took Mornel’s hand and led her across the room to another door. 

“No, she isn’t. She can stay with the other ladies-in-waiting in their room. Ingwion, where are you going?” The prince ignored his father and strode resolutely into the next room. The Vanyar palace was as much a maze as the palace of Tirion, perhaps even more so with the tree-lined halls and alternating gardens which opened up to many rooms. They found Indis and several Vanyarin ladies in Indis’ rooms. The ladies were singing or playing musical instruments, Amarie among them.  

A light luncheon had been prepared on the side table for the ladies and Mornel helped herself to the oatcakes and creamy goat cheese on offer. A glass of sweet ale washed it down. Ingwion stayed to speak with his aunt as the ladies left to attend to various chores – unpacking of Indis’ clothes, running a bath, or simply arranging flowers in a vase. They shared a laugh at an account of the queen’s attempt at a new hairstyle which did not work out. A cot was set up in a small room off Lady Indis’ chambers for Mornel, next to Amarie’s. 

Mornel noticed the Vanyarin prince drifting over to one of Indis’ ladies. The pair slipped out onto the balcony. Before the curious child could follow, Lady Indis called her back. Mornel did notice how Ingwion’s eyes lit up and how the pair held hands almost furtively. 

“King Ingwe does not approve. They have been in love since before they were even of age, since before I wed Finwe,” Indis explained quietly. 

“Why is that so?” Mornel asked. 

“Lady Elsornie was not deemed high-born enough for his only son,” Amarie replied. “He tried to send Ingwion to court King Olwe’s daughter but His Highness swore to take no wife but the one he loves, even if they need to wait until Arda breaks to win his father’s approval to be wed.” 

Mornel silently reflected on what she had heard of her atto and amil, how her atto had defied common opinion to wed her amil, albeit with King Finwe’s blessings. She thought it a pity that the High King would not allow the couple who were so much in love with each other, to be bound in wedlock. 

“Was King Ingwe a king before he came to Valinor?” Mornel blurted out. 

“Gracious, no. Our father is Imin, the Elf Father of the Minyar. Just as Finwe was the son of Tata,” Lady Indis explained. “We did not have kings back then, only chieftains- so we were the children of a chieftain.” 

“Can’t his grandfather do anything for Ingwion?” 

“Sadly, no… we have not spoken in a long while,” Indis said quietly. None of the Vanyar had really given the older elves from Cuivienen much thought. “My parents were the only ones of the Elf-fathers and mothers who completed the Great Journey. They say Enel and his spouse were lost to the Dark Hunter before Elwe returned. Tata’s spouse had died by then, and he chose to remain in the East despite Finwe’s urging. My parents did not like living in Tirion, so they moved away with some of the older elves, before Ingwe founded Valmar… I have not seen them for ages. That was before Ingwe took a wife… My atto said he hated all the rules and protocols my brother came up with. If he wanted to run across town in only a loin-cloth, he would and whatever people think is their own business. My amil said they should up the ante by skinny-dipping in the city fountain.” Mornel chuckled. She could just imagine Ingwe’s scandalized face at the notion of his parents splashing in the fountain like a pair of elflings. 

“I only wish Prince Ingwion could be with the nis he loves, and the same for Uncle Arafinwe…”

* * *

The following days were an easy rhythm of music, conversation, and prayers to the Valar. Mornel was not invited to join the royal family for meals and she ate separately with Amarie and the other ladies. Ingwion often found excuses to call on his aunt and his beloved. She saw little of Ingwe and his queen. There was also Fearocco she needed to care for. She took the horse riding in the Woods of Orome and the glades outside the city. 

“How did you manage to get King Ingwe’s colt from Lord Orome?” a stable-lad asked Mornel when she was rubbing down Fearocco’s flanks after one such ride. 

“The king’s? Lord Orome gifted him to me.” 

“His amil is His Majesty’s favourite mare… His Highness took her out one day to be with his lady love out in the woods. Lord Orome’s steed found and got the mare with foal. Birth nearly killed her. There will not be another foal from that mare. Lord Orome’s Maia all but demanded the colt from him soon as it was weaned. Something about a special Doom on your beast. Gave His Majesty quite a turn seeing you riding his colt.” 

“D-does he want Fearocco back?” Mornel asked fearfully. 

“Eru, no. Horse likely to throw him. His Majesty can’t ride all that well. Still, would never have happened if he hadn’t ordered us to shut away Prince Ingwion’s gelding that day to keep him from meeting his lady,” the stable-lad chuckled as he offered a carrot to Fearocco. The horse eyed the root suspiciously, then snorted and turned away. “Feisty, isn’t he?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering, the inspiration for the jewel-birds of Valmar is the hummingbird. And yes, Ingwe is being a prig here. 
> 
> Elsornie – steadfast star (Quenya)


	20. The Lovebirds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel forms a friendship with Ingwion and definitely gets into Ingwe’s bad books.

Mornel caught glimpses of the Vanyarin queen leading her ladies in morning prayers or working at a tapestry on the balcony from Indis’ window. Indis brought her to call on the queen once. Mornel found her conversation polite but dull. She had little to chat about but the latest fashions and styles or some upcoming banquet. Her needlework was almost inept compared to Miriel’s tapestries. Mornel thought it resembled something a distracted elfling would have produced. Overall, it seemed the queen was bored of being shut up in the palace. The High King did not approve of his kin mingling with common elves. Her only joy was the care of her gardens and the jewel-birds, and the bulk of the tasks were left to the army of handmaidens who followed her about. 

_“Takes after her atar, doesn’t she?”_

_“At least she’s not as much a brat as he was…”_

_“Daughter of a Kinslayer…”_  

Not all the palace servants were comfortable with a daughter of Feanaro about. Mornel had learnt to ignore the whispers and dark looks in Tirion. She was not too bothered by the same treatment from some of the servants assigned to Indis’ quarters. Amarie was there, and Indis’ handmaidens from Tirion were always kind to her. The stable-elves were in awe of how she had apparently tamed Fearocco and were eager to offer tips on caring for horses.  

Mornel was fascinated by the jewel-birds of Valmar. They were tame enough to perch on a finger or shoulder. However, they did not sing or speak as they darted about their business. “They do not sing- maybe once they did. Ingwe always complained birds made too much of a racket. So perhaps the Valar made a few tweaks…” Indis explained the birds’ muteness. 

“Instead, we ended up with the bells,” Ingwion added mischievously. 

Ingwe hardly called on his sister outside the official banquets. When he did, he chose to ignore Mornel whenever he came. Instead of following Amarie’s example of bowing and retreating to the side of the room, Mornel chose to continue reading her book on the rug where she was comfortable. 

“She takes after her atar – selfish, rude…” 

“Oh shush, brother. You have not exactly been polite to her,” Indis chided. “She’s a princess and your grand-niece, by marriage if not by blood, but you haven’t been treating her as one. She gets along well enough with Ingwion… Mornel, dear. Come here…” 

Mornel obediently put aside her book and joined Indis on the divan. Ingwe only scowled disapprovingly as Indis placed an arm around the elfling. 

“She is not family, Indis- just as that Curufinwe was never your son…” Mornel saw a shadow pass over Indis’ face at those scathing words. She reached over to hold her grandmother’s hand. 

“Grandmother, could we have a picnic in the garden please? We could ask Ingwion to join us, too,” Mornel asked sweetly. “Would you like to join us too, Your Majesty?” she smiled at Ingwe. Ingwe only huffed in disdain and left. Mornel broke into a peal of laughter. She was joined by Indis and her ladies. Prince Ingwion’s throaty chuckle emerged from the balcony where he had been waiting to speak with his Lady Elsornie.

* * *

The picnic proceeded as planned two days before Indis’ scheduled return to Tirion. The weather was fair. Ingwion and Elsornie had more than enough chances to wander off under the shade of an olive grove alone. Mornel did not know Elsornie that well in Tirion. The nis often looked sad then and Mornel thought she was homesick for Valmar. Now she laughed and smiled in Ingwion’s company. There was precious little time for the pair to share but Ingwion did make time to converse with Mornel. The elfling was eager to find out more about her father and brothers. 

“I first met your atar when he was an elfling – when Finwe came to seek my aunt’s hand in marriage. He was a sullen child, for we knew that Miriel would never be able to return from Mandos with Finwe’s decision. I did not speak with him since I had my studies – and Sorna…” Ingwion’s eyes darted fondly to his beloved. “He screamed and cried throughout the betrothal ceremony but Finwe would not be persuaded. That was the last time your atar came into the palace. He did visit Valmar later, but he always lodged elsewhere in the city or in Aule’s mansion.” 

“Tell her about Morifinwe Carinistir,” Elsornie urged. 

“Your cousins, aunts, and uncles visited the palace on occasion when Aunt Indis did. However, Curufinwe’s sons never came here, save for Morifinwe who was sent here as part of his schooling.” 

“I was often stuck in Tirion,” Elsornie explained. “We had friends to help us exchange letters… among them Findekano, Elenwe, and Laurefindil. Morifinwe found out.” 

“What did he do?” Mornel gasped. She had heard rumours of her brother’s infamous scuffle with Ingwion. 

“He came to me, punched me, and demanded to know how long I intended to keep Elsornie waiting,” Ingwion replied sheepishly. In the aftermath of Morifinwe’s banishment from Valmar’s court, they had come close to eloping and getting married as they were both long of age. However, the dutiful son won out and Ingwion decided to wait instead for his father’s approval. 

“Morifinwe was young and idealistic then… he thought he could knock some sense into Ingwion quite literally,” Elsornie added apologetically. “He’s quite a nice ner, under that gruff exterior.” 

“I considered him a friend, perhaps I even envied him for his confidence. We exchanged letters for a while before his atar’s exile. How is his wife, Helwien the dyer, is it?” Ingwion asked. 

Mornel related an account of Helwien’s riding mishap and reassured them she was recovering. Ingwion looked thoughtful especially when the elfling related how she had ridden the horse back to the city to get help for her law-sister.   

“Fearocco- that name smacks of a Doom. There is likely some greater plan for you and your horse. That’s why he could not be ridden by any other than you.” 

“What will you tell my brother Morifinwe now, Ingwion?” Mornel blurted out. “About keeping Elsornie waiting…” 

At those words, Ingwion took Elsornie’s hand in his and the pair exchanged stricken looks. It was the prince who broke the silence. 

“I’m sorry, Sorna…” Ingwion pulled his beloved into an embrace and kissed her on the brow. “I understand…” Elsornie breathed into his shoulder. Mornel stepped away to allow the pair some privacy. Little did she know that a storm was fast brewing in the High King’s court.

* * *

_“Atto, I am no longer an elfling! I have loved her since we were but elflings and she has loved me in the same measure!”_

_“The daughter of a lowly tailor and a dancer is not worthy of you, son! I order you to…”_

_“That dancer is a favoured disciple of Lady Nessa and the tailor cares for all your ceremonial robes, atto…”_  

The night before their departure, Mornel was awoken from her reverie by a commotion from the royal quarters. She noted that Amarie and one of the ladies-in-waiting were present, but Lady Elsornie was missing.  Indis had thrown on her dressing gown and there was a grim look on her face as she swept through her rooms to those of her brother’s. Barefoot and clad only in her nightgown, Mornel followed. 

“Atto, I will wed her with or without your blessings…” Ingwion replied defiantly. The mighty king Ingwe spluttered and went livid with rage. His queen clung to his arm, trying to calm him with soft words. Both were dressed in their night-clothes. Lady Elsornie and Prince Ingwion were fully dressed as if ready to ride out from the city. A knot of palace guards hung awkwardly back by the far wall, wishing that they had not interrupted their prince’s elopement. 

“I will banish this nis from Valmar,” Ingwe shouted and pointed at a trembling Lady Elsornie. 

“If she goes, I go too,” Ingwion replied. “Sorry, amme…” he turned to give his mother a fond look. The queen froze for a moment. Then she gave her son a slight nod and smiled. She understood. 

“You can’t! I forbid it! You are my son… Indis, say something…” Ingwe beseeched his sister for aid. 

Instead, Indis folded her arms. “It’s about time, Ingwion. Both you and Sorna are no longer elflings… I’d love to help with the binding ceremony.” 

Mornel could not stifle the giggle which burst from her when she saw the look on the High King’s face. Ingwe turned his rage on the hapless child. 

“You, Kinslayer’s whelp. You are the cause of this! I hereby banish you from this city.” 

“Nonsense, Atar. The child has nothing to do with this. This is something which I should have done a long time ago,” Ingwion retorted. “I will wed Sorna and if you banish her, I will leave with her.” 

Ingwe fumed and glared at each of his family in turn. Ingwion refused to be cowed. Indis had taken his son’s side. Even his normally agreeable queen had tacitly indicated her support of the couple. With an ill-tempered huff, he stormed off. His queen murmured an apology to Indis for disturbing her sleep before hastening after her husband.

* * *

_It is a pity I was unable to attend the binding ceremony in Valmar since I am still banished from there. Lady Elsornie made a beautiful bride. Amarie told me about it when she came back. Aunt Findis and Aunt Anaire attended as representatives of the Noldor. Uncle Arafinwe had to stay in the city because of work. They were so worried Ingwe might have Elsornie sent away somehow. Grandmother Indis says he is still not too happy about the match but the Valar sent Lords Eonwe and Olorin to give their blessings to the new couple. I guess he cannot banish Lady Elsornie now. I know Ingwion and his bride will be very, very happy together… Hopefully, King Ingwe will quit being such a grumpy elf… Grandmother said a grand-elfling or two might soften him a bit…_

_If only all matters of the heart were so easily dealt with…_ Mornel mused as she fed the jewel-birds Ingwion had sent to her in a silver cage. She could let them loose in the garden but she must be careful the falcons and ravens which flew in the skies above Tirion did not harm her tiny friends. Her grandfather Mahtan had offered to have his smiths create a larger cage in the palace garden so that the birds could fly both freely and safely. 

Ingwion had threatened to go live outside Valmar if he could not wed his beloved and the queen said she would leave with her son if Ingwe forbade the match. The myriad Vanyarin customs pertaining to the binding ceremony had taken nearly a full year to complete. Mornel had witnessed the party led by Ingwion coming to Tirion to officially seek Indis’ permission for Elsornie’s hand as the dowager queen was her de facto guardian. The elfling thought it odd as both parties were long of age. There were other rituals which required Elsornie to travel to Valmar to participate in. At least they had made an exception and forwent the customary three years of betrothal. 

The elfling yawned, closed her journal and padded across her room to her bed. She was too old for a nurse now and Amarie had returned to her rooms in the city. Uncle Arafinwe had received a letter from King Olwe inviting him to visit Alqualonde. This time, he would be accompanied by his niece- Feanaro’s daughter. Both the Noldaran and Master Mahtan had voiced their concerns but Lord Olorin insisted that Mornel should be allowed to visit the Telerin city. _Had she not handled herself admirably in Valmar and achieved much good there? That banishment thing was most likely a temporary inconvenience. The High King could be a petty elf at times._

 _I hope I can get Uncle Arafinwe and Aunt Earwen back together again…_ Mornel prayed as she drifted into a reverie of pearly quays and white-sand shores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really Ingwion, what took you so long? If it weren’t for Mornel and Carnistir’s prodding, that pair would still be unwed when the Second Music rolls round. And Mornel follows her brother’s footsteps in getting banished by the High King. The Valar probably knew of Ingwion and Elsornie’s plight but decided after the disaster with Finwe to keep away from the love-lives of the Children. When Ingwion finally finds the guts to follow his heart, they backed him up by sending their Maiar to bless the couple.


	21. Interlude in Mandos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude in the Halls of Mandos and Finwe reflects on his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time is probably within the first century of the First Age of the Sun. Technically, Finwe is not under the Doom of the Noldor.

 

 _Hast thou considered my offer, Finwe Noldoran?_ The Doomsman of the Valar boomed from high on his throne. _This offer will not be made again while the Doom still holds..._

Where a lesser elf might have wavered, Finwe did not. _I have, my Lord, and my answer remains the same. How could I leave, Doom or not, while my son and grandchildren remain?_ Finwe bowed and took his leave even as the muted protests of his grandsons reached him.

 _Should have accepted…_ Pityo’s fea brushed against Finwe. Beside him, Arakano palely nodded his assent. Time in the Halls was marked only by the entry of ever more elven fear, their eternal lives cut short, and the slow healing of its occupants.

Finwe and his grandsons passed but did not enter the hall where Feanaro’s fea still blazed. They did notice a score or so fear from the Helcaraxe trying to warm their frozen hands at the flame, not understanding that the cold of the halls could do them no harm. Pityo could not help smiling at the irony of it. Whatever his atto made of the situation, he did not know. The fear would linger there until the Maiar came to usher them away lest they be burnt by the fire that was Feanaro.

The Maiar were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of tormented fear pouring into Mandos. Elflings were always a priority – confused, in pain and often sundered from their parents. These were carefully taken aside and put into the care of the Maiar in a special hall to sleep and heal until they could be returned to their parents’ care in Valinor. Occasionally, the young inhabitants would wander out into the common halls in search of their parents and need to be shepherded back. Those whose parents were also in Mandos were allowed to visit them. Many of these had fallen prey to madness or the cold of the Helcaraxe. Finwe had begged for the Doom to be lifted from these elflings that they might return to Aman. Surely the fault lay not with them? There was little sense re-embodying elflings if there were no parents ready to care for them, Lord Namo explained.

There were special halls for elves deranged by their suffering, elves perished from grief, and elves who had been enslaved by the Black Foe in his fortress. These last elves were the subject of much speculation as some were said to predate the Great Journey. Arakano had sneaked a peek into that ward once and claimed some of those within resembled the foul creatures he had encountered in Beleriand. He had fled screaming into his grandfather’s arms.

They passed the sprawling caverns and courts where the fear of the Avari, Nandor, and Sindar lingered waiting to be re-embodied. The halls of Mandos were vast and endless. There were the occasional fights between Noldor kinslayer and Teleri slain which needed to be broken up. For a time, the Noldor were shut away from the Teleri but it was not feasible. The Teleri needed to make their peace with those who had slain them before they could return to Aman.

Finally Finwe and his grandsons came to a vaulted hall where Elenwe hovered and gazed thoughtfully at a tapestry. Elenwe slept often despite having long been healed. When awake, she would seek out the latest of Vaire’s tapestries, hoping to find a glimpse of her husband and daughter.

Pityo glanced at a tapestry depicting a traditional Vanyarin wedding, recognizing Ingwion in it as the groom. He had caught fleeting glimpses of his brothers and cousins in his grandmother’s handiwork before, yet his sister eluded him.

He was restless. The cold walls did not suit him one bit. He yearned for the open wilds of Aman and reassuring presence of his twin. It was disturbing having the bond he had known since conception sundered. He wondered if Ambarussa felt just as lonely. Cousin Arakano was a poor substitute. They were never close in life. 

 _Found her!_ Arakano called out in triumph. Pityo immediately hastened over. _Sure it’s not your sister?_ The tapestry showed a small elfling, astride a large horse, before the gates of Tirion.

_Definitely not. Irisse’s horse is not that colour…_

_It could have been yesterday or hundreds of years ago._ Pityo grumbled with frustration. They could ask news of the fear who stumbled in from Beleriand but no one had died or faded in Aman for quite a while. They had learnt of Elwe’s people and the dwarves who were created by Lord Aule. The dwarves did not come to Mandos, for none had seen a dwarven fea.

 _She’ll be all grown-up before we know it._ There was a twinge of both pride and regret in Finwe’s words as he joined them.

Finwe had always taken an interest in the raising of his children and grandchildren, as far as his duties as Noldoran would allow him. Of course, his pride and joy was his eldest. His marriage to Indis had opened up a rift between father and son which was never fully bridged afterwards. Like most Vanyarin nissi, Indis believed having elflings would fix all domestic discord but each additional sibling only pushed them further apart. He delighted in his children by Indis – clever Findis, the ever-smiling Irime, little Arafinwe who took after his amme and Nolofinwe who was so like his atto.

It had hurt when Feanaro moved out of the palace to set up his own little household across town. Indis had argued that it was best for all. She had long tired of his dark moods and their effect on her brood.  Findis would shy away from company, Irime smiled less and Ara was so unsure of himself… With Nerdanel, Feanaro almost returned to the happy son he once was, that was before the quarrel with Nolo happened. Finwe could not understand how it could have happened – Nolo adored his big brother and would never seek to replace him and Feanaro had been more at ease at the forge than at court.

 _When had that dark influence first touched his children?_ Perhaps his remarriage had been the root of his son’s pain. He had followed Feanaro and his family into Exile, hoping to heal his pain. However, it did not work out as he had hoped.

His thoughts now drifted to his many grandchildren. Ara’s brood spent much of their childhood at Olwe’s court, the eldest, Findarato, was almost of age when the family finally returned to Tirion. Nolo’s wife had raised her brood within the palace but their grandfather was often too busy to play with them. He might have dandled little Findekano and Turukano on his knee.  He recalled Anaire chiding Irisse for wearing her skirts too short. The youngest was a regular warrior but lacked the good sense which came with maturity and experience. This foolhardy valour proved to be Arakano’s undoing.

In Formenos, Finwe had gotten to know the wilder of the Feanarions - Tyelkormo and the twins, for whom the courtly protocols were a torment. The twins were young by Eldar standards when Feanaro was first exiled. Nerdanel had followed for their sake but when they were old enough, she returned to Tirion and her craft. Indis might deem that irresponsible.

Maitimo wrote letters to his favourite cousin Finno. Makalaure kept up a correspondence with his wife in Alqualonde. Carnistir made constant journeys to Tirion to visit his wife but the strain was too much. Perhaps they had drifted apart during that time. Curufinwe and his wife tried for a child to no avail. Curufinwe had wed young and expected to father children quickly, just like his atto. He was disappointed when his wife’s belly refused to swell with new life. Formenos was too cold and desolate for children in Finwe’s opinion. Somehow the twins thrived- they reminded him of the early elves, half-wild and almost fey, but not as fey as their atar.

It had always been his sons and their sons who drew his attention. Findis and Irime were never really trained to lead. Indis insisted they master their needlework and other domestic skills to one day manage their own household. Findis had no inclination for marriage or children. There were such elves among the Eldar. Irime disappointed with her choice of husband. It might have been some consolation to her parents had she been happy. Alas, the cracks soon appeared and not even little Laurefindil’s birth could bring his parents back together. Both mother and son soon returned to Finwe’s house. Nolo always doted on his little sister and granted them a place under his roof.

Of the granddaughters he knew, Irisse had inherited the famed Finwion spirit the strongest. Had she been male, she would have been a warrior like Finno. She could match her brothers and cousins in both horsemanship and archery, even outshine them.  Artanis’ unusual beauty made her proud. She was the pampered baby of her family. There was a light of something deeper in her eyes. The gift of foresight was said to run strong in the Falmari lines. She was prone to episodes of daydreaming and odd remarks which would later prove true.

 _Mornel Feanariel._ Finwe knew nothing of this last child of his favourite child. _She’d be slower, less robust than her cousins and brothers without the Light and without the strength of her parents to draw upon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where do the orcs come from? One version suggests that they were descended from Elves captured and twisted by Morgoth – they have pointy ears in the Jackson movies. Which also begs the question if their souls are elven and could be healed for rebirth in Aman. Other versions suggest they were created from the mixing of beasts, men and fell spirits. 
> 
> The dwarves are there in the Halls, only the Elves don’t get to see them as the halls they end up in are separate. 
> 
> The idea of the fear using Feanor as a fire is amusing to me.


	22. The Palace of Swans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel visits the city of the Lindar and the scene of the First Kinslaying as a guest of King Olwe.

At first they discussed having both Arafinwe and Mornel ride in the carriage but that would not do. It was a long-established custom for Arafinwe to ride to the city of the Swan-elves. Having the princess ride alone or with her ladies might not go well with the Teleri as not even Lady Earwen or her children used the carriage during their visits to King Olwe. It was decided, very reluctantly, that Mornel would ride on her horse alongside her uncle, escorted by a small six-elf unit of ceremonial Noldor guards and six attendant elves. Any more and the Teleri might be upset. 

Mornel would have two attendant nissi to wait on her during her stay. Amarie was unable to accompany her on this journey due to a prayer ceremony at Taniquetil she would be undertaking with several other nissi to beseech the Valar to lift the Doom over their beloveds. 

_“I’m sorry, Mornel…” Amarie had apologized._

_“I wish Lord Manwe and Eru will hear your prayers- and allow Cousin Findarato’s return…” Mornel had replied, trying hard to hide her disappointment. The chosen attendants were of Telerin parentage and were never close to the princess even in Tirion._  

Mornel now trotted a respectable distance behind her uncle. Fearocco was taller than Arafinwe’s steed and Mornel soon found herself the centre of much unsought attention as they approached the pearly white gates of Alqualonde. These gates and the encircling white marble walls were a new addition to the city since the Darkening, a gift from the Noldoran and part of the compensation paid for the blood shed by his kin. Wary elves lined the road leading up to the gates as the Noldorin entourage approached. 

“Kinslayer’s daughter…” the hostile whispers flowed and ebbed like a tide as they rode. Fearocco whinnied as if sensing the tension in the air. Mornel clutched the reins until her knuckles were white. She kept a thin smile on her lips. She held her head high and looked forward. Aunt Anaire had stressed how important it was to conduct herself as befitted a Noldorin noblewoman. The lessons in deportment and etiquette were torture to Mornel. Anaire was a lot less forgiving of mistakes than Amarie. 

 _“I made a proper princess out of Irisse and I will make one out of you,” Anaire had said as they worked through the tiresome details of some obscure court etiquette. It was not proper to run about the palace. One did not simply run into the Noldoran’s study calling ‘Uncle’ like a child. You had to knock politely and request admittance. You had to curtesy and greet him by his title._  

They were passing through the pearl-gates now. The narrow gates meant they had to pass two by two on horseback at most. The guards fell behind to allow Fearocco and Mornel to pass before them. 

No one was certain who threw the pebble. It flew from somewhere among the crowd of Lindar elves and hit Fearocco on the rump. It was a sharp stone and it stung, startling the horse into rearing. Mornel was caught off-guard and could not recover her balance in time. One moment she was in the saddle, the next she was landing flat in the muddy street with a splat. An amused twitter ran through the spectators at the sight of a Noldorin princess unseated in such an undignified manner. 

“Mornel! Are you well?” Mornel heard her uncle’s concerned voice cutting through the confusion of laughter. 

“Aye, Un- my liege,” Mornel blinked away the tears. She got back onto her feet. The soft mud from a recent rain had cushioned her fall and she was only lightly bruised. Her gown however was now a muddy mess. Fearocco nudged her apologetically. He swung his mighty head over to the crowd of elves as if he meant to bite. 

“No, Fearocco, behave please,” Mornel tugged gently on his reins. He did not mean to throw her and she knew it. She stroked his soft nose to reassure him and soothe the mix of anger and outrage emanating from the horse. To her dismay, she saw a slight beading of blood on his rump where the skin had been breached by the stone. _I’m sorry, Fearocco._    

 _Tis only a scratch, princess…_ Fearocco snorted.  

“I’ll walk,” Mornel decided. There would be no more stones thrown at Fearocco because of her. She wound the reins around her hands. It seemed only a short stroll from the city gate to King Olwe’s palace on the hill. 

“Then we shall all walk,” the Noldoran announced as he dismounted. The guard of honour followed suit, as did the attendants.

* * *

Mornel’s feet hurt badly when they finally reached the palace. The soft-soled slippers proper noblewomen wore in Tirion did not fare well on the shell-and-cobble streets of Alqualonde. Mornel sorely wished she had disregarded Aunt Anaire’s instructions and brought along her riding boots like those worn by the attendant elves. 

 _"Mornel, you are a princess still and it is your duty to conduct yourself in the best way possible in Alqualonde,” Aunt Anaire had instructed. “You are a member of the Noldoran’s family, and like the king, you represent Tirion when abroad…”_ That meant she had to be polite and demure at all times like a well-behaved princess. She was not to gallivant about on Fearocco or talk back to anyone the way she did with the High King. It was a disgrace she had been banished from Valmar even though Lady Indis had mentioned something appealing Mornel’s banishment on her behalf.    

King Olwe and his queen were waiting at the entrance of the palace to greet them. The silver-haired king came forward to embrace Arafinwe warmly and kiss him fondly on both cheeks. The queen did the same, even though she had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss Arafinwe. The queen was short even for a nis. Mornel hung back awkwardly as the trio chatted in the Telerin dialect. The elfling was never given a chance to learn the tongue as it was rarely spoken outside Alqualonde. 

“Oh, the poor lamb…” the queen exclaimed when her bright eyes caught sight of the muddy youngster standing in the shadow of her horse. Before Mornel could drop a curtesy or speak a greeting, servants were summoned. 

An uncharacteristically docile Fearocco was led off to the stables with the rest of the Noldorin steeds to be watered. A guard reassured Mornel her horse’s wound would be seen to. A warm bath was readied for Mornel and fresh clothes procured. She was ushered off to the royal family’s bathing pools. There the queen herself clucked and fussed over Mornel’s muddy braids and bruised feet. 

“Those soft shoes… never wear them outside in the street… We use these…” Queen Falmiril lifted up her skirts enough for the elfling to glimpse a pair of wooden clogs underneath, which the queen quickly slipped off to better walk about on the smooth stone tiles of the bathing floor. “Now soak your weary feet here in this pool. The water has healing properties to remove your aches,” she coaxed.  

Mornel found the small, silver-haired queen as friendly and chatty as any Tirion sparrow. She had a jolly nature and Mornel liked her immediately. Judging from the laughter and conversation coming from the men’s baths next door, King Olwe was enjoying an afternoon soak as much as his law-son. The queen excused herself to allow her guest some privacy to bathe and instructed her maidens to wait outside the baths should Mornel require any assistance. 

The milky warm water was soothing on her skin and she felt the tension leave her body. Mindful of how long she had been soaking when her fingers started to prune, she emerged from the bathing pool, dried herself and dressed in the light tunic she had been provided with. To save time, she tied her hair back with a ribbon instead of braiding it. The maidens provided her with a small pair of slippers to be worn in the palace and a pair of wooden clogs should she desire to venture outside into the gardens. The garden paths of Olwe’s palace were paved with seashells, coral and pearl. A pair of snowy swans glided on the garden lake. All seemed peaceful and carefree there in King Olwe's palace.

* * *

Dinner was an informal affair on the terrace under the stars as Tilion’s vessel began its slow ascent. Wicker chairs were put out for the guests about a stone table, part of which was an open grill. Mornel was amazed by the sheer variety of seafood offered by their host. There was shrimp slathered with a tangy sauce and grilled on an open fire. Juicy clams were stewed in a creamy broth. There were slivers of fresh fish, eaten raw with sea salt and lemon. King Olwe had changed out of his formal robes in favour of a simple blue house-tunic. Arafinwe seemed far more at ease in Olwe’s company than even in Tirion, Mornel observed as Olwe said something which made the Noldoran smile. 

Suddenly, the smile faded from her uncle’s face. “E-earwen…” he unsteadily rose to his feet. There was a look of half of surprise and half of shock on his wife’s face. 

“Ara- I thought you were in council…” she caught herself and slipped on a mask of schooled indifference. 

“Ah, my child… so good of you to join us tonight for dinner. I fear the council meeting has been postponed to tomorrow morning,” Olwe beamed as he hugged his daughter. He bade her sit on a wicker chair beside Arafinwe. 

Lady Earwen greeted her parents as she took her seat. She ignored her husband next to her. Mornel saw a frown pass over the faces of both the king and queen. The atmosphere had changed from one of ease to disquiet. For a few moments, Earwen picked at her food listlessly. 

“Atto, amme… I fear the day’s heat has wearied me. I ask permission to return to my chambers,” Lady Earwen put aside her cutlery. 

“My daughter… this is the first time you have dined with your husband in years… surely…” Olwe frowned. 

“Forgive me… but I find it hard to continue thus knowing my brothers are still in Mandos and my children lost!” Earwen cast her napkin to the floor and hastened off down the terrace. 

“Go after her,” Olwe urged his law-son. Arafinwe fumbled, knocking over his wine glass. Red liquid spilled down the table, staining his tunic as if with blood. 

“Earwen, please…” Arafinwe ran after his wife. 

“Oh my, that did not quite work out…” Falmiril patted her disappointed husband on the shoulder before ringing for dessert to be served. 

“I fear we have indulged her for too long,” Olwe nodded and kissed his wife on her brow. “She must return to her husband’s side.” 

Mornel could not understand the conversation but she understood the sadness on the couple’s faces. She had little taste for the fruit pudding which was served as dessert. Thinking the child wearied from the journey from Tirion, the attendants were summoned by the queen to put her to bed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Falmiril – wave-jewel (Elffetish quenya name generator) 
> 
> Teleri - last comers (I doubt the Teleri would refer to themselves thus, so I used the term Lindar for singers since they liked singing) 
> 
> Seafood cuisine for a coastal city, why not? Olwe is deciding to put his foot down where his stubborn daughter is concerned.


	23. Sponges and Swans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel joins King Olwe and his family for breakfast and experiences a Telerin prank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not too happy with the original version of this chapter and did a re-write of some parts.

 

Warm sunlight poured into her room. It took a while before Mornel recalled that she was in King Olwe’s palace in Alqualonde when she awoke to the tinkling of tiny seashells hanging in the window. Eagerly, the elfling clambered out of her shell-shaped bed. The window looked out upon the harbour and the air smelled of brine. There was a wash basin and sponge set out on the wash stand. Clean clothes hung from hooks on the wall. The water was still warm and the sponge far softer than any towel in Tirion. Her attendants must have left them there for her use although she had not seen the pair since yesterday’s dinner. 

Mornel set about washing her face with both sponge and water before combing her hair and dressing. She was perturbed to find no mirror in her bedroom by which she could check her toilette. There was not even a small hand-mirror in the chest of drawers beside her bed. Resignedly, she hoped she cut a presentable enough picture for breakfast. Falmiril had informed her that it would be served on the terrace at the stone table where they had had dinner. It would be impolite to make their host wait. 

Mornel stepped out into the corridor and was greeted by a pair of grinning young pages who hastily hurried off. The sun was already high in the sky and Mornel hoped she was not late. She rubbed her hands against her skirts and was dismayed to see them leave bluish stains in their wake. _Had she touched something in the corridor or her room to stain her hands thus?_

* * *

“I was so certain it would work… Ai, he spent the night under Earwen’s window…” Olwe exclaimed to his wife as he buttered his kipper and toast. 

“Beloved, the last time he did that, you boxed his ears and lodged a complaint with his father…” Falmiril’s silvery laughter tinkled. “I suppose the shipwrights’ meeting this morning is cancelled?” Her husband nodded in reply. 

“They were not even betrothed then and he had no business being there. Now as her husband, his proper place would be with her inside her room, not in the bushes outside her window…” 

“Did you not suggest a ladder?” Falmiril poured out more of the strongly-spiced tea into her cup. 

“The poor lad was worn out so I sent him to bed… A stew of onions and mussels should fix him proper…” Olwe gaped as their young guest joined them on the terrace with a cheerful good morning. The queen spluttered on her tea and began giggling. 

Mornel frowned. _Was something wrong with her face or hair?_ Then she caught sight of her reflection in the silver teapot. She looked down at her hands. Her face and hands were both stained a dark purple. Olwe was now guffawing hard. 

“Oh dear, dear… those sponges again…” Falmiril shook her head as tears of mirth ran down her cheeks. “Don’t worry - the colour will fade in two hours or sooner with a bit of lemon water with salt… Earwen, you do recall when your brothers pulled the same prank on poor Anaire…” 

Earwen had just arrived to join her parents for breakfast. She giggled into her hands as she sat down.

Lady Anaire had come to the palace to tutor her in Noldorin court protocols then in preparation for her eventual journey to her husband’s city. Her brothers were so much younger than Earwen and took a dislike to the prim nis. Every child in Alqualonde knew of those soft sponges and how warm water made them produce a purple dye which clung to the skin for a while. How Anaire had screamed when she saw herself in the mirror that morning.  

 Mornel picked up an empty silver platter from the table and peered into it. She did look quite funny and she could not help giggling. Falmiril had her servant bring a wash bowl of lemon water and a towel so that Mornel might clean her hands and face. Mornel thought that smiling Earwen seemed more at ease now as she greeted her parents and sat down for her meal. Earwen tried to stifle her laughter as she set about filling her plate. 

“Your Majesty, has Uncle breakfasted?” Mornel asked casually. She peered into the silver platter as she wiped her face with the lemon water. The colour was starting to fade as Falmiril said it would. 

“Alas, I fear your uncle is indisposed this morning. We have sent a tray to his room…” Olwe replied. There was a clatter as Earwen dropped her fork. “Daughter, do you wish to see to him?” Earwen did not reply to her father’s words but her cheeks coloured fiercely. 

Falmiril bade Mornel come with her to the baths for a thorough washing, leaving father and daughter alone. Afterwards, a stroll in the garden to feed the swans sounded like a good idea. 

“Daughter, I beseech you to have faith. Lord Ulmo will keep watch over our people, including the Sundered, even the Exiles and your children. The Valar will release your brothers from Mandos when they are ready to return to us…” Olwe intoned in the tongue of the Lindar as he stepped behind his seated daughter and placed his hands on her shoulders. “For your sake and Ara’s please… set aside your pride…” 

“I-I c-can’t…” Tears were running down her cheeks. “I cannot return to Tirion and live there, knowing my children are lost…” 

“Think it is any easier on Ara? Remember he had no part in the deeds of his brothers and that he returned to ask forgiveness from us. The question is, child, will you accept him?” 

“We have spoken thus before, atto. I am not ready… I cannot walk in the same halls they once trod, knowing…” 

“I know, Earwen. It is a heavy burden to bear alone. As much as we are willing to support you, you have to make your peace with Ara and his people.” 

“Anaire…” 

“Ah, Anaire- that poor nis lost both her husband and children under the Doom, as so many of the Noldor have. Your mother and I, we do feel sorrow too at times when we think upon your brothers… Sometimes we still think we could hear Lindo singing to the swans, or see Eareldo and Raumeldo fishing in the bay…” Olwe spoke wistfully of his sons. “But enough of that, child. You are not only a princess, but a queen. The people need you, Ara needs you… and you need him…” 

“Not yet, atar…” Earwen gently shrugged her father’s hands off her shoulders. 

A shriek sounded from the gardens. Both father and daughter peered over the edge of the terrace. Mornel had finished washing her face and upon her exit into the gardens, had been accosted by an overly protective swan. Falmiril called out to the large bird, trying to calm the creature. With one flap of his mighty wings, the poor elfling was sent into the lake with a splash.    

They had been strolling past the lily bed when Falmiril pointed out some garden sculptures they bought from Nerdanel’s workshop before the Darkening. They depicted a group of dancing elves among the lilies. Mornel had ventured into the lily-beds for a closer look at her amil’s artwork when the swan burst out from the tall grass. No doubt the bird and his mate had set up a nest somewhere close by. 

Satisfied he had seen off the intruder, the bird waddled off. Mornel coughed up water and mud as she sat in the shallows. A frog hopped off her head with a croak. A trio of stunned palace servants standing nearby gawped at the sight for a heartbeat before breaking out into laughter. Mornel stood up and giggled as she shook a minnow free of her sodden hair. She must look quite a sight. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesties, I believe I need a bath…” 

“So you shall take a bath, child. I will make sure there are none of those horrid sponges waiting in the bath. I do hope you will be able to join us later for the tour of the fish-market,” Falmiril smiled with relief when she saw Mornel was both unfazed and unhurt from her unfortunate encounter with the swan. 

“Mornel!” Arafinwe called out from the terrace. He had roused himself to do his law-father the courtesy of joining him for breakfast, and had just arrived to see Mornel’s disastrous flight from the swan. 

“I am fine, Uncle…” Mornel smiled as she wrung muddy water from her hair. Arafinwe glanced over to Earwen, who was giggling into her hand like a young maiden. There was a look of heart-breaking fondness on his features as he did so. 

 _Lord Manwe and Varda, please grant my uncle his happiness with the one he loves…_ Mornel offered up a silent prayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The names of sons of Olwe taken from Elffetish. 
> 
> Lindo – singer  
> Eareldo – sea elf  
> Raumeldo – storm elf


	24. The Swan Singer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel meets a law-sister in Olwe’s palace and learns more about her brothers.

It took Mornel a while to scrub the mud out of her hair. The queen had brought a plate of refreshments for the elfling, seeing she had not had the chance to eat as heartily as a growing child her age should at breakfast. Mornel did not realize how hungry she was until she tucked into the fruit-filled muffins and milk. She combed her hair neatly and donned the fresh set of clothes prepared for her. When she finally returned to the terrace, the breakfast table had already been cleared and the royal family nowhere in sight. 

Putting on her wooden clogs, Mornel cautiously ventured into the gardens. Perhaps the grown-ups had gone on a post-breakfast walk. She kept a wary eye out for the swans. The air was fragrant with blooming flowers. Small finches sang their songs from the thickets as the sea birds screamed from the docks beyond the palace walls. Mornel heard music from a harp, soft and fleeting, yet breathtakingly beautiful. _Her brother Makalaure played the harp… They said he was a master of his craft…_  

Intrigued, the elfling followed the music. The voice which sang in accompaniment was female. Mornel did not understand the words, but she recognized the sorrow within them, and the hope. The elfling came onto a pavilion where a solitary minstrel sang to a flock of spellbound swans. When the musician concluded her song, the birds took flight across the lake in a graceful ballet of wings and spray. 

“Greetings, princess…” the minstrel bowed. Her silver-white hair was bound up with black ribbons and she was clad in a pale grey robe. For a moment, she reminded Mornel of her Grandmother Miriel. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting you yet. My name is Serelinde, minstrel to King Olwe’s court and wife of Makalaure Feanarion.” 

“You knew my brother? Could you tell me about him please?” 

The nis nodded with a smile. “I suppose much you have heard about Laure paint him as a Kinslayer. I shall not speak for your atto nor the others but I doubt Makalaure spilled any blood that fateful day. How could he when he was with me? He only left when we saw the docks burning. He bade me remain… perhaps someday he will return…”   

“Do you miss him much? Your song…” 

“Oh look, Alquaran and his mate have brought their little ones out on their first swim…” Serelinde pointed out a pair of swans on the water. Trailing the pair were a gaggle of a half-dozen grey cygnets. “He didn’t mean to scare you so badly this morning… he was just protecting his family…” 

Mornel watched in awe and wonder as the graceful adult birds sailed past the pavilion, followed by their ungainly-looking young. It seemed impossible that such dowdy little birds would one day blossom into the most graceful birds in Aman. Mornel wondered if she would ever grow into a princess her uncle could be proud of, a daughter even her atto would be proud to call his…  

Serelinde laughed lightly. “It’s amazing, but in time, they will be as graceful as their parents. You will find your own way princess, no matter what…”  

“Mornel! There you are…” her uncle’s voice rang out from across the garden. “We are ready to leave for the market with King Olwe… It’s getting late…” 

“Coming, Uncle,” Mornel regretfully bid a farewell to the minstrel. She had so much she wanted to ask about her brother. The strains of harp music followed her as she hastened to her uncle’s side. They headed to the gate where Olwe was waiting. Like Arafinwe, the king and queen were simply dressed in light tunics much like those worn by their people, well-suited for a day on the docks. There was no sign of Lady Earwen. 

“Where is Aunt Earwen?” Mornel asked. “Is she not joining us?” 

“No, Earwen is finalizing the design for the cabins. She will be meeting with the craftsmen once it is ready,” Olwe explained. “I understand you have met Serelinde…” 

“She seems so very sad… Is it for my brother’s sake?” Mornel asked. 

“Yes and more, Serelinde lost her entire family on the docks then,” King Olwe said quietly. “Her mother, sisters and nieces were pearl divers. Her father, brothers and nephews were shipwrights and mariners. Her hair was once dark, but it has turned white with grief. It has been a long time but she is healing. Her music has brought great peace to our hearts. Moreover, she has a way with the swans… just as my son had…” There was wistfulness in the king’s voice. 

King Olwe had three sons – crown prince Eareldo, prince Raumeldo who was Master of Ships and the youngest prince Earlindo who acted as his father’s minstrel and swan-herd. When news of the destruction of the Trees reached Alqualonde, the princes had gone to the docks to help outfit the ships with lamps so that their people might continue fishing in the dark. The king did not know what happened but the princes were not likely to have surrendered their people’s means of livelihood so easily. The Lindar relied heavily on their ships.

* * *

The fish market was not as busy as she had expected. Arafinwe explained that the hour was late and most of the stalls had already sold their wares. They would wait for the boats to return from the day’s fishing before they opened once more in the late evening. There were fewer elves and boats now compared to before the Darkening.  

Olwe chatted with a fisherman mending his nets and bought a basket of lobsters from one of the stalls for dinner. Mornel was offered a spoon of creamy sea-urchin roe which tasted strongly of the sea. Falmiril bought a string of pink pearls from a young elfling. Mornel noted that the elves were friendly with their king and queen and even her uncle. However, there were fewer smiles for her, Feanaro’s daughter, although she was treated with politeness. 

There were hills with salt-rich grass around the city, where their horses and animals were put to pasture. Fearocco and the other Noldor horses would join the smaller Telerin ponies on the hills under the watchful eyes of Olwe’s stable neri. In the old days, many of the Noldor nobles sent their best steeds here to feed on the mineral-rich grasses. Perhaps if time allowed, Mornel could venture there to speak with Fearocco later in the day. She had little heart for walking the same docks where her father had spilled the blood of her hosts’ kin. 

They had one more stop to make – the shipyard. While Olwe, Falmiril and Arafinwe were speaking with the master shipwrights, Mornel was left to her own devices. She sat on a barrel and patiently waited for the adults to conclude their discussion. 

“Mornel!” a voice called out. Mornel turned. She grinned broadly to see the Tinwion brothers sprinting towards her. The younger brother Surihin hugged her. The older brother Surialdo held back shyly. He was a grown elf now, tanned by the sun from working on the ships.    

Mornel was glad to see her friends once more. The pair had recovered from their muteness. “How are you? My brother works on the ships now… and I start today…” Surihin said. 

“We are working on the royal ship. Do come and see it some time,” Surialdo added. “It’s a lot smaller than the old one but it will be very pretty when ready…”    

The pair brought Mornel to one of the dry docks but they were turned away by a grumpy shipbuilder. He chided the brothers for bringing Mornel there as the shipyard was no place for outsiders to tramp about getting in the way of their work. Moreover, there were heavy loads being hoisted and ropes to haul. It would be dangerous for someone unfamiliar with the workings of the shipyard. Disappointed, the young elves returned to waiting for their elders to complete their discussion.

The royal family had a beautiful ship they used to sail the coast in but it had been stolen during the Kinslaying. The new vessel King Olwe had commissioned was far smaller and its building was slow, for Olwe had ruled that the limited materials and manpower be used to equip his people with fishing boats first. The new royal ship could be sailed by a single sailor instead of a crew of three. 

It was time for luncheon. The party went to a humble fisherman’s café where they were offered peppery chowder with ship biscuits and weak ale. The Twinion brothers joined the luncheon with the shipbuilders who were taking their lunch break. They would return to work afterwards while Mornel returned to the palace with the royal family.  

There were few slain at the Kinslaying who have returned to them. Lord Namo had informed Olwe that his sons were not quite ready yet. There were rumours of a fisherman who had returned from Mandos. However, his family had moved away from Alqualonde to avoid the unwanted attention.  

There was a monument to the slain erected in the centre of the city. The royal party stopped there so that Mornel could place some flowers before it. It felt right to the young elf. She had bought the flowers from a widowed nis on the docks – sea asters and periwinkles. A small crowd gathered to watch her lay the flowers but they soon dispersed and the party continued on their way unhindered.  

 

* * *

Mornel paused on the garden path when she heard harp music. It was the same melody she heard earlier. It was probably her law-sister.  

“You would like to know more about your father and brothers, am I right?” Olwe asked when he noticed her hesitation. Falmiril was chatting to Arafinwe further down the path. “Perhaps we can take a walk together by the lake.” 

“What do you know about my atto and brothers? Please, could you tell me…” 

“Firstly, your atto was not particularly fond of court protocol. The first official visit he came on with Finwe Noldoran as an elfling. He sneaked out to swim in the harbour and almost drowned. That was before Indis… After that, he never came on official visits. He later visited Alqualonde unofficially with his family, your amil and brothers.” 

“They did?” Mornel tried to picture her atto, amil and brothers walking along the docks, bargaining over the fishermen’s catch or watching the ships. Her atto would turn those same docks into a battlefield… 

“Your brothers Neylafinwe Maitimo and Kanafinwe Makalaure were sent here to my court as part of their training. Maitimo had the makings of a leader and might have proved himself in Finwe’s court. Sadly, he attracted too much attention from the nissi and was not yet skilled enough to rebuff them. He was a fine-looking elf.” 

“What happened?” 

“Oh, it was a young nis already betrothed to another. She talked Maitimo into walking along the beach with her during a festival and her betrothed took offence. We had to send him back as that nis’ fiancé was one of the top shipwrights then and a bit of an ill-tempered ner. I would never have explained to your grandfather if your brother were to be hurt.” 

“What of Makalaure?” 

“His skill on the harp and his voice were already famous when he came here. Many aspiring minstrels begged him to take them as his students despite his young age and he accepted a few. There were some who disliked the idea of having a Noldor teaching their children. The local bards sent two of their best students to challenge him, never guessing that the trio would end up composing music together…” 

“Was one of them Serelinde?” 

Olwe nodded and wiped a tear from his eye. “Yes, and the other student sent was my son Earlindo. They became fast friends. Eventually Makalaure asked for Serelinde’s hand in marriage.” For a time, both king and princess stood watching the swans in silence before they finally went indoors. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just gave the Telerin brothers from Lorien their own names from Elf fetish name generator
> 
> Surialdo – wind-tree  
> Surihin – wind child
> 
> Serelinde is a minstrel just like her husband.
> 
> Earlindo (Sea-singer) was originally introduced in the last chapter as Lindo. This is a nickname of sorts used by his family and friends.


	25. Telerin Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel finds herself the target of disgruntled Teleri elves despite the friendship of the Tinwions and Olwe’s protection.

_I am learning how to speak Telerin. It is different from Quenya although both use the same Tengwar characters to write with. Uncle told me he took almost forever to master the tongue even with Aunt Earwen and King Olwe teaching him. Now he sounds like a native of Alqualonde. His children grew up speaking Telerin and had to be given lessons in Quenya before they moved to Tirion. King Olwe’s court uses Quenya only as a formal language when dealing with visitors from Valmar and Tirion, as do the traders and the common Teleri in the street. When with family and friends, Telerin is used. My brothers spoke Telerin too -Makalaure more fluently than Maitimo. They said my atto might have spoken Telerin too but he favoured Quenya, well, an older version of Quenya which is much like Telerin._  

They were to stay in Alqualonde until fall. Serelinde was assigned to teach Mornel the Telerin dialect. Her lessons were held in the pavilion by the lake where the palace swans swam. They spoke much about Telerin life before the Darkening. Mornel learnt that Makalaure had been a well-known figure in those halcyon days and a welcome face. 

“We of the Lindar love music and your brother was the best minstrel in all Aman. It was a pity he decided to go to Formenos with your atar…” 

“Do you begrudge him his decision?” 

“Never. Your atar had such presence… it’d be like sailing in one of Lord Osse’s storms. I guess your brothers just got caught up in it…” 

“Then it is the fault of the Valar for freeing…” 

“Nay, perhaps there is a greater scheme to this all. A note in the Song of Eru… we must have hope and faith… Estel, you know…” 

Mornel felt Serelinde’s words made no sense. _How could such evil deeds be part of the Song of a merciful Eru like she had been taught in the schoolroom? But Falmiril had said that Serelinde was still grieving, perhaps that was why her words seemed strange._

* * *

It took a while to convince her uncle to allow her to leave the palace unescorted so that she might play with her friends, the Tinwions, without the grownups hovering over them. Initially, the Noldoran was reluctant to allow her this freedom. Many of the Teleri were still grieving and might make Mornel the unwitting target of their ire. However, he was soon persuaded by his young niece’s earnest pleas. The Tinwions promised Queen Falmiril to protect Mornel from any unfriendly attentions. 

 _I am so excited. Uncle finally agreed to let me go out with my friends. Surialdo said he would show me a quiet beach where they could teach me to swim. I have seen the divers at work and it is amazing how graceful elves can be in the water._  

The divers worked naked save for a pouch about the waist in which they placed their bounty. She had seen them gathering kale at the town’s seaweed farm. Falmiril explained that clothes might get snagged underwater. The divers left their tunics on shore, ready to be donned on their return. Earwen was among the divers that day. Even the princess pitched in to help with the kale harvest. Arafinwe’s eyes constantly strayed to his wife’s slender form as she worked. He was no stranger to the practices of the Teleri. Earwen noticed her husband watching her and her cheeks seemed to redden before she dove under. Arafinwe hastily glanced away to the twitters of the other divers.

* * *

They met as often as the Tinwions’ work at the shipyard allowed. Swimming was a lot harder than it looked. Mornel and the boys kept their undergarments on in deference to Noldorin sensitivities. Aunt Findis and Anaire would surely disapprove of Mornel skinny-dipping. More often, they frolicked in the shallows or lay on the sand watching the gulls. She trusted the brothers but not even they could protect her from the ire of their fellow Lindar completely. 

While walking along the docks, Mornel was splashed with a bucket of fish-guts by an elf. The ner yelled at her and Mornel could not understand the words. It sounded like he was complimenting her hair. Confused, she murmured a thank you in Telerin. Perhaps it was a quaint Telerin custom. The elf was left confused by her reply and the spectators started laughing, including her friends. 

“What did he say?” Mornel asked. She knew she must have misinterpreted the words. 

“Best you not know,” Surihin’s lips tightened in a grim line. _It must have been a really bad word._ He took Mornel by the hand and hastened her away from the scene. Her clothes were utterly ruined and it would take a long soak in the palace baths to remove the stench from her hair and skin. 

Another time, someone stole her clothes where they had been left on the beach during their swim. Her clogs were also taken. She had to return to the palace clad in Surihin’s shirt and piggybacked by Surialdo so that her feet would not be cut to pieces by the coral-lined streets. Aunt Anaire would have been utterly scandalised by the amount of leg she was showing.

* * *

Even in Olwe’s palace Mornel was not spared hostile glares. After the incident with the sponge, there was a glass of juice she had been offered during a court banquet by a friendly-looking nis. The drink tasted awful and she came down with a fit of hiccups so bad she could not breathe. Her uncle sent for a healer immediately. Afterwards, she had lost her voice for two days. 

“Her brother slit Prince Earlindo’s throat. The Kinslayer Makalaure did!” the nis responsible had retorted when Arafinwe confronted her with the deed. Serelinde had stalked over in a silent fury and slapped the nis before running from the hall. 

“He did that, you know… but it was because he could not get the prince out from under that heavy beam and the building was burning fast…” Surihin would explain haltingly later as they sat on the sand a week later. “We tried to save him but we could not lift the beam.” Surialdo added. Sadness washed over the older brother’s face and he blinked his eyes. 

“W-what happened?” Mornel asked cautiously. She could see how the memory of the events was still painful to her friends. _Forgive me, but I must know._ Mornel reached over to squeeze both brothers’ hands. 

“We were on the docks then… It was madness. Atto fell. The docks were burning. Amme tried to save us but she fell too. Then our sister got hit by an arrow…” Surihin rubbed his eyes as if something had gotten into them. 

“We could not lift her without hurting her. There was so much blood- then she stopped screaming. Prince Makalaure came then- we recognized him from what Prince Lindo told us of him. He told us she was gone and covered her up… Then we heard Prince Lindo’s screams. He was trapped in the warehouse where they kept the oil and tar. He had gone in to get the nissi there out before the fire… It was burning up so fast and we could not free him. The roof started falling…” 

“A nis came into the building and Makalaure ordered her to take us out quickly. Then he took his dagger and… the prince was gone. Perhaps it was a mercy.” There were elves who had been caught in the fire on the docks. Often they had suffered great pain before their fear finally departed for Mandos. It had not been possible for them to survive the journey to Lorien. The Valar were still reeling from the Darkening and cloistered in their Circle of Doom to be of much use to the stricken elves in distant Alqualonde.

* * *

At another meal, Mornel was slipped something in her food which made her act all silly. Mornel could not remember much of what happened but her uncle was very upset. _Had she really tried to take off her clothes in front of King Olwe and his guests and danced on the table?_ She vaguely recalled that the stern Vanya ambassador was gaping like a large grouper she had seen in the market. She had laughed so very hard because he looked so funny. Falmiril had ushered her away and fed her a bitter drink which made her sleepy. 

It was difficult for her to shrug off the cruelty at times and she would run to the pavilion where Serelinde played her harp. Her law-sister’s gentle music always soothed the elfling’s troubled heart. At other times, she would seek out Fearocco and share her woes with him. They would then gallop over the rolling hills like the wind  and she would forget her cares for a brief moment in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to introduce some humourous pranks to be played on Mornel but it jars with the entire tone of the story. Some insight into Makalaure’s ties to the Teleri.


	26. Runaway Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel has a frightening encounter with unfriendly elves. Arafinwe makes plans to cut short their visit even as Olwe makes a last-ditch attempt to reconcile his daughter and law-son.

“Atto,” Arafinwe addressed his law-father firmly. Olwe had always treated him like a son and the Noldoran enjoyed the hospitality of Alqualonde. However, it had to be done despite his promise to stay all summer. “Atto, in light of the latest incident with the ambassador, I believe it would be best if I take Mornel back to Tirion soon… before she really gets hurt.” 

“Ara! You have barely spoken with Earwen…” 

“I have.” 

“I do not speak of polite greetings over meals, Ara.” Olwe’s brow furrowed with displeasure. 

“I know, but it is clear that Earwen no longer feels for me… I will petition the Valar…” 

“Arafinwe, don’t be hasty. She still feels for you… At least stay a few more days, until the sea trials...” 

“I will stay for the trials. Then I will leave…” 

Olwe watched helplessly as his law-son left the room. He really did not wish for his law-son and daughter to be parted.

* * *

Meanwhile, Mornel was lying on the grass with her eyes closed while Fearocco grazed some distance away. It was so peaceful on the hills – she could see why her brother often took Serelinde up here before the Darkening. It was a pity the Tinwions had to work at the shipyard that day. The cliffs dropped off sharply into the sea here. Further north and south the Pelori rose sharply. The elfling took in the salty air and the cries of the wheeling sea-birds. She did not hear the elves sneaking up on her with ill-intent. 

Strong hands suddenly seized her. A foul-smelling rag was forced into her mouth, muffling her scream.  Her arms were pinned firmly to her sides. 

“What do we do to her now?” an unfamiliar voice whispered in Telerin. Mornel understood enough to know she was danger. 

“The cliffs?” She was being dragged closer to the edge of the drop. 

“No, you dolt. His Majesty will know and there’d be trouble for us… Perhaps there might be more spiders in Avathar…” Mornel shuddered. She had heard terrible tales of the spider Ugoliant who killed the Trees from Olorin. The smiths at Grandfather Mahtan’s sometimes told stories of how the monstrous spider would snatch elves who dared to venture into her shadowy domain and devour them both fea and hroa. Apprentices would dare each other to venture into the shadows of Ugoliant’s former domain as a test of courage. 

 _Fearocco! Help!_ Her friend must have heard her mental plea. There was a harsh neigh and the sound of hooves, then screaming. But she was too close to the edge. A push to her back and she felt the ground disappear beneath her feet. She was falling. 

Suddenly her descent slowed. Many tiny claws were digging into her hair and back. She then felt soft sand beneath her feet. She had landed on the beach. She heard cursing and more neighing above her on the cliffs. Fearocco had seen off her attackers and was peering over the cliff’s edge looking for his mistress. Many seabirds – gulls, albatrosses and terns- soared back into the blue sky. 

“Thank you!” Mornel called out after her feathered rescuers. 

“That was a close one, eh?” Aiwendil huffed and puffed as he scrambled over the rocks to where Mornel stood. 

“Master Aiwendil! I didn’t know you were here!” Mornel was delighted to see a friendly face. The scruffy Maia picked out an albatross feather from his tangled hair. 

“Lady Yavanna sent me to check on the seabird colony outside the Pelori… oh, and you,” Aiwendil stared at his bare feet. He had meant to be in Alqualonde when the Noldoran’s party arrived but the gulls did so love to chatter about their eggs. 

“I’m alright, Aiwendil. Now how do I get back up there?” Mornel looked up at the cliff. She could feel where the birds’ claws and beaks had torn her tunic open. 

“There is a path further down. I will walk you back to the palace.” 

“What of those elves?” Mornel frowned as she heard faint groans from the cliff top. _They will not hurt you again, princess,_ Fearocco’s reply echoed grimly in her mind. 

“I think Fearocco has taken care of them. I will send word to King Olwe or Queen Falmiril…” Aiwendil hailed a passing petrel and whispered the message to the bird before watching it fly off in the direction of the palace. 

“Princess?” 

Mornel had thrown her arms around the Maia and was crying into his grimy robes. Wordlessly, he patted her on the back as she sobbed. Olwe and Falmiril were kind and friendly. So were the Tinwions, Serelinde, and a good many of the Teleri. Yet there were still a handful that could not forgive the Kinslayers and sought to direct their misguided vengeance on a helpless child.

* * *

Lord Ulmo had heard King Olwe’s call. He chuckled as the royal couple outlined their plan. There were some things he needed to prepare. Arafinwe and Earwen were meant to be together. They were part of Eru’s song. Lord Manwe had confided that much in Ulmo. Arafinwe’s appeal would never be granted. Olwe and Falmiril understood their daughter’s heart well, far better than Earwen would admit to herself. The Noldoran needed the support of his queen. King Olwe could do without his daughter now that things in Alqualonde had fallen into some semblance of normalcy.

* * *

After the frightening incident at the cliffs, the Noldoran was reluctant to allow his niece out of the palace. Aiwendil had offered to watch out for Mornel on her outings, but Arafinwe did not trust the Maia. The Maia was too easily distracted and liable to run off after whatever caught his attention. Olwe had dealt with the offending elves severely, sentencing them to Tol Eressea for twenty cycles of the sun, to be carried out as soon as they had healed from the contusions and broken bones inflicted by an angry horse. Tol Eressea was a lonely island some distance from Aman’s coast. It boasted a small Teleri fishing settlement famed for squid. The elves were sentenced to help the villagers in building a new pier and seawall to guard against Osse’s storms. Fearocco had chafed at being confined in the stables - a necessary measure until the grooms deemed him no threat to the other horses in the pastures. Thankfully, the king soon acceded to his owner’s pleas not to punish the horse. He was soon set back to grazing and galloping over the hills. 

Mornel missed her swims and her friends, especially from the shipyard where the Tinwions worked. She had often gone there with the brothers to look at the ships they helped build, especially the royal vessel. Initially, the shipwrights were hostile to Mornel but she soon won them over with her easy manners and modest ways. She was nowhere as insufferably arrogant as Feanaro. They soon grew to tolerate the Noldor princess’ presence. She was just like any one of the elflings who sometimes brought food to their elders working at the shipyard. Mornel would sometimes bring snacks from the palace for her friends. That was before the incident at the cliffs. 

Serelinde strummed on her harp as Mornel sang a Telerin folksong to pass the time. She was bored. Lord Aiwendil had shown her a nest of baby wrens. However, the Maia then went off to the cliffs to check on some seabird nests. Her uncle had correspondences from Tirion he needed to reply to and meetings to attend. Her hosts had their own duties to attend to. 

Mornel perked up at the sight of her uncle walking along the garden path dressed for an outing. He was also toting a large basket. Perhaps he would allow her to accompany him to the market or wherever he was headed. Olwe’s palace grounds were fair but Mornel had long explored every nook and cranny there was to explore. 

“Uncle, where are you headed?” 

“To the shipyard, Mornel. King Olwe has some important letters he wishes me to deliver in person to the master shipwright…” Mornel’s heart leapt at the mention of the shipyard. 

“May I come along please? I so miss the Tinwions…” the elfling pleaded. Arafinwe could find no reason to deny her request. 

The Noldoran thought it a little odd his law-father insisted he delivered both the letters and the picnic hamper for Earwen to the shipyard in person when a palace servant could have sufficed, but Olwe insisted and Ara could not find reason to turn him down without being a total cur. He was told that he could leave the hamper in the cabin of the royal vessel, which Earwen was to later take out for the sea trials, if his wife did not wish to see him. The weather was exceedingly fine and the sea was expected to be calm enough in the afternoon for the princess’ sailing. Lady Earwen was as accomplished a sailor as any of her brothers. 

The Tinwions were busy at work when they arrived at the shipyard, although Surihin did look up for a moment to acknowledge Mornel with a wave. Surialdo was too tied up raising a mast with his mates. Arafinwe found the master shipwright in charge of the royal vessel and handed him the letters before heading for the berth where the new royal vessel was moored. There was no sign of Earwen around so Arafinwe decided to leave the basket in the main cabin of the vessel. 

“Mornel, would you like to come on board with me?” the Noldoran offered. The elfling nodded eagerly. Neither she nor the Tinwions had been allowed on board the royal vessel yet. Arafinwe had no intention of lingering at the shipyard but he knew how disappointed his niece would be that she was not be able to play with her Teleri friends. 

They crossed the gangplank to where the new vessel bobbed sedately on the gentle waves rolling in. The jewelled eyes and golden beak of the swan-head prow gleamed in the sunlight. Above their heads, the shining white sail was half-raised. The craft was all rigged and ready for her first sail. In the distance, Mornel could see the arch which marked the harbour entrance, rebuilt after the Kinslayings. Both uncle and niece did not feel the gentle jar as the waves rolled underneath the vessel, tugging it loose from her mooring ropes. Mornel followed her uncle into the beautifully furnished main cabin with its portholes set with coloured glass. There he placed the basket on a heavy table. There would be smaller cabins below decks for use by any guests, servants, or sailors. 

Arafinwe found his attention drawn to a decorative carving on the cabin wall. It depicted a minstrel with his harp as a trio of elves gathered at his feet. For a brief moment, he was reminded of his absent children. How often had he come across his eldest son playing the harp with his siblings gathered about him? Why, one of the elves in the depiction had her head cocked the same way Artanis did when something caught her interest. Leaving her uncle to his musings, Mornel peered out the porthole. _Was it just her, or were the docks further away than she recalled?_ She could see the palace hill and that seemed to be moving away as she watched. 

“Uncle, we are moving!” Mornel called out in alarm. Arafinwe hastened over to the porthole and saw that his niece was right. Hurriedly, he went out onto the deck. They were moving faster now, possibly caught up by a confluence of both tide and currents. He tugged to no avail on the helm. It was stuck. 

“Ara! What are you doing here?” Earwen scowled as the commotion drew her up from where she had been checking on the caulking in the hold. She did not find any shoddy work there unlike what her mother had told her to expect. Such an inspection could have been left to the shipwrights. 

“Earwen, we’re adrift! The helm’s stuck,” Arafinwe replied. There was no time for explanations. Earwen hurried over to the mast. There was a stiff breeze picking up and filling the half-raised sail. Earwen lowered the sails to try slowing the runaway vessel. There were dangerous shoals near the harbour entrance which they were fast approaching. 

“Send help! Tell Master Aiwendil!” Mornel screamed out to a passing gull but the bird did not seem to hear her. Instead the bird flapped its wings lazily before diving for a fat fish. Arafinwe managed to budge the helm enough to miss an anchored fishing boat. A string of Telerin curses followed them from the startled fishermen as their vessel skimmed through the harbour arch and into open water. There was a jarring crack as the tiller caught on the rocks. Arafinwe, who had been clutching the helm tightly, was thrown against the bulwark by the sudden impact. He lay motionless where he had fallen. Earwen gave a stricken cry, ran to him and turned him over. There was blood trickling down the side of his face and a nasty contusion on his brow. His eyes were closed. 

“Help me, please,” the flustered nis turned to only one other elf on board – Mornel. The elfling recalled all she had learnt helping Aunt Findis in Lorien. She gingerly felt for a pulse. _Head wounds often look worse than they really were. There was still the risk of a concussion even if the skin was not broken…_ She had no herbs or such with her. To her relief, there was a strong pulse and Arafinwe let out a loud groan. His eyes fluttered open. He was only stunned. Earwen tore the hem of her dress to make a crude bandage for her husband’s head. 

Mornel peered about them. They were caught in some strange current and the weather about them was changing rapidly. The sun had gone and a heavy fog was fast closing in. She shivered at the chill in the air. Earwen had thrown the anchor overboard but it could not catch on the bottom. They were out too deep. The sea-anchor was simply wrenched out of her hands and swallowed up by the growing waves. 

“The ship… We hit some-something… C-check…” Arafinwe managed to croak as Earwen helped him to his feet. Instinctively, Mornel hurried below. She had not reached the bottom of the ladder before she encountered water sloshing about the hold. They were taking on water. Mornel hurried back on deck to report the bad news. Earwen went below to assess the damage done. It was not long before she emerged utterly soaked. 

“We need to find land quickly. I cannot stop the leak,” Earwen reported. Mornel shimmied up the mast. It was a lot harder than climbing a tree but she might be able to glimpse something in the growing fog from high up. Arafinwe was still groggy from the bump to his head and could barely stand up without support. Earwen was trying to steer the ship despite her broken tiller. The wind had died totally but they were still at the mercy of the waves. 

“Land! I see land!” Mornel called out. _Was it just her imagination or was the ship being drawn ever closer towards the land she glimpsed through gaps in the thick fog?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Lord Ulmo and/or his Maia are definitely in on this adventure. Ugoliant would be the ideal bogeyman(spider?) to terrify elflings with.


	27. A Strange Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting Arafinwe and Earwen back together can be both a pain and surprisingly simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this comes out well. It sounds quite anticlimactic. Perhaps I should have let Arafinwe fight off a shark to save Earwen or something dramatic but that would be a little too over the top and Olwe will not be pleased about his daughter and law-son being endangered too much.

The dark shore emerged from the grey fog like some wraith, eerie and foreboding. However, the elves had no choice in the matter of whether or not to make landfall. The waves drove them ever closer, until they felt the keel scrape against the rocks. A large wave lifted the ship up and drove it onto a protruding spit of rock with a loud crash. 

“Lord Ulmo, we seek your aid!” Earwen cried out in Telerin as she grabbed her husband by the collar to save him from falling over the side. Lord Ulmo did not make his presence known. Mornel braced herself against the mast at the impact. The fog was clearing now, enough to allow them to spy a sandy beach and a forest of stunted-looking trees and brush. 

“W-where are we?” Mornel asked. Strange sounds came from the shadowy forest. Earwen glanced about, trying to get her bearings. There were no landmarks she could make out although she had sailed the waters off Alqualonde as soon as she was old enough to join her parents on their sea-ventures mapping the various islands off Aman. Perhaps they had ventured further than King Olwe ever had. The proud princess felt her heart sink. 

 “The Doom… f-forbids us the Valar’s aid… Have we s-sailed beyond their reach?” Arafinwe groaned. His head was throbbing and his thoughts still in disarray from his injury. 

“Nowhere is beyond the reach of the Lord of the Waters,” Earwen chided gently but there was a tremor in her voice. A huge wave crashed over the elves, drenching them with saltwater. The stricken vessel shifted uneasily under their feet. The ship was too precariously perched for them to remain on board any longer as the waves continued battering it. 

“W-we need to… g-get off…” Arafinwe forced the words out through gritted teeth as salt stung his wound. “G-get the basket…” Mornel ran into the main cabin and retrieved the picnic basket. Queen Falmiril had packed a generous lunch for her daughter and they would need the basket’s contents. The last wave had smashed the stained glass portholes and water was entering the cabin. Earwen grabbed her bulging satchel from where she had left it on the deck. In it were the rope, canvas, and tools Earwen had thought might be useful on board a ship. 

Together Earwen and Mornel helped an injured Arafinwe off the vessel, and guided him along the narrow spit of rock towards the safety of the beach. The trio huddled in the shelter of a huge boulder on the beach to catch their breath. 

“I-it’s a sad end… for a fine ship,” Arafinwe smiled weakly as they watched the ship grinding against the rocks. 

“Aye, that she was…” Earwen did not protest when Arafinwe’s arm unconsciously found its way around her shoulders. Monel watched sadly as the beautiful ship was slowly reduced to a hulk of splintered wood.

* * *

Mornel must have fallen into reverie where she sat. She was roused by the crackling warmth of a campfire. Her uncle and Lady Earwen were huddled against each other for warmth and comfort, whispering in hushed tones. A pile of twigs and driftwood had been gathered for the fire. Seeing Mornel awake, Earwen offered her a small loaf of bread from her lunch. There was also a water skin in the basket to quench their thirst with. Mornel crawled over to the grownups hesitantly. 

Aunt Findis had discussed the possible effects of a head injury with the other healers in Lorien once, and Mornel had overheard some of their words. She checked her uncle's eyes, and listened to him speak. Thankfully, there seemed there was no tell-tale sign of concussion, infection, or worse. Apart from a splitting headache, the Noldoran was fine. 

The hold of the ship had been torn open and some of its contents had washed up along the sand. A small cauldron was filled with freshwater from a stream Earwen discovered and set to boil over the fire. Scattered mugs, crockery, and cutlery were also salvaged. 

“My family used to take us camping on Tol Eressea when we were elflings…” Earwen explained. “Amme would set up the fire pit and Atto would catch fish…” 

“Atto allowed me to come along and your brothers played such outlandish pranks…” Arafinwe winced slightly as Mornel cleaned out and applied a healing salve to his head wound. The Noldoran and his wife were looking into each other’s eyes as they spoke. 

“Remember the snipe-hunt? Raumeldo had you running up and down the beach waving your arms like a bird…” 

“Aye, to attract the snipes!” Arafinwe laughed. “I fell for it… just like when Eareldo convinced me to dig a hole in the sand and sleep in it to hide from sea-wolves. Think we should put up a tent?” 

Using the ropes and canvas, a crude shelter was rigged on the beach above high-water mark. Fog still obscured the horizon and their craft was ruined. If they were still in the waters of Aman, someone would come for them soon. _If not…_  

They would need to look out for any unfriendly threats. So far they seemed to be the only ones on their part of the beach. They had to work together until they could be rescued or make their way back to Alqualonde. 

Earwen’s picnic lunch, generous as it was, would not last them long. The grownups crafted crude spears for fishing. Mornel set herself to weaving a fish trap. It was similar to the fish-traps Helwien had used on her extended outings into the wilds of Aman. Her law-sister had shown her how to make one from river reeds. The dried palm fronds found on the beach were quite similar to reeds. She set her trap in the shallows between the rocks at her uncle’s suggestion. 

Night crept up on them before the fog cleared. Earwen cooked up a meagre stew from the last of the ham and bread from her lunch, along with some periwinkles and seaweed they found on the rocks. The trio sombrely partook of their dinner. A bottle of wine in the hamper was shared between the elves, heavily watered down for Mornel. 

“Look, stars!” Arafinwe exclaimed as he looked up. “Perhaps they can tell us where we are…” Earwen glanced up and then back down at her mug of stew. 

“Nerwen and Ingoldo would know. They so enjoyed stargazing… I do not have their skill… I miss our children, Ara… so very badly…” 

“I miss them too…” Arafinwe drew his wife close so that her head rested on his shoulder. “I should have tried harder to stop them…” 

“Could you, Ara? You know how stubborn they could be… especially Ingoldo.  They used to tell me about the starlit lands over the sea, and how they longed to explore them…” 

“Aye,” Arafinwe leaned in and planted a kiss on his wife’s brow. Mornel shuffled away from the pair. She felt like an intruder on their privacy. She mumbled some excuse about being sleepy, shuffled to a corner of their crude tent and curled up on the soft sand. Someone covered her with a piece of canvas as a blanket.

* * *

Sunrise found the skies clear but there was no sign of civilization. A thick fog lingered on the horizon and shadowy specks in the fog hinted at the possibility of other isles. Shrugging off his niece’s concern, Arafinwe waded out until he was waist-deep in the water and waited for fish to pass near enough to spear. He decided to allow Earwen to sleep in. She had been up all night trying to draw the attention of Ulmo or his Maiar through prayers. Mornel checked on her fish trap and found it empty. Perhaps she needed some proper bait to draw in prey. Arafinwe soon returned with a good-sized flatfish for their breakfast. 

After breakfast, the elves ventured into the forest. A short trek found a small hill from which a spring gurgled into a pool before draining into the stream. Away from the bay where they made landfall, the shore grew rocky. Steep cliffs fell sharply into the crashing waves. From the cliff-tops, they saw only an expanse of sea mist. They were stranded on a small island in an alien sea. Earwen was bothered by Lord Ulmo’s silence. Her desperate prayers had gone unheeded. This was so unlike Ulmo and his Maia who were partial to the Sea-elves and more than glad to give them aid. 

During their explorations, Mornel hung behind, or ran on ahead of her uncle and aunt. Arafinwe was prone to fleeting fits of dizziness if he stood for too long so Earwen had to help support him at times. They spoke in awkward whispers but more often they walked in strained silence. The exploration was only a distraction from whatever passed between them the night before. Mornel kept an eye out for any medicinal herbs which they could use to ease dizziness and speed healing. She found none she could recognize. 

* * *

 

A humid heat had settled over the island as the sun rose. Arafinwe had stripped down to his shirt and hose. Likewise, both nissi wore only their under-tunics. Their Telerin clogs were clumsy on sand and offered little grip in the forest. They were promptly discarded in favour of going barefoot. Earwen suggested weaving sandals from the vines and palm fronds as the folk of Tol Eressea did in the Years of the Trees. The sandals should offer their feet some protection from the sharp rocks along the shore when they salvage driftwood for the fire or crafting a raft, as Arafinwe had suggested for escaping the island. Even in the shade of their shelter, it was wearying work. 

“Earwen, it would appear we are stranded… Perhaps Lord Ulmo and his Maiar are busy…” Arafinwe looked up from the plan of a raft he had been drawing in the sand. Earwen had declared it over-ambitious and impractical given their situation, and liable to be swamped once they left the shelter of the bay.  

“Thank you for stating the obvious, Arafinwe Finwion…” Earwen replied testily. 

“You haven’t referred to me thus since before our betrothal…” Arafinwe frowned. 

“Is there any truth to you beseeching the Valar to end our union?” Earwen ventured. “There have been whispers from the maids…” 

“Do you see any reason for us to continue?” Arafinwe asked tersely. Mornel coughed. The uneasy silence which followed was so thick she could cut it with a knife. 

“No, now that our children are lost to us…” Earwen replied as she put down her half-woven sandal. 

“No, that’s not true!” Mornel protested. “The Doom will be lifted one day, I know that. What will Cousin Findarato say if he came back and found his parents have dissolved their marriage? Moreover, it is not just my cousins… You both care for each other so very deeply, so admit it already!” The words burst out of Mornel before she could stop them. The grownups exchanged stunned looks. 

Mornel blushed crimson. She had not meant to be so brash… She sounded like Helwien and so utterly unladylike. Aunt Anaire would throw a fit. Proper princesses must always be demure and polite to everyone, especially their elders. Earwen lifted a hand to her mouth and started giggling. Arafinwe chuckled deeply. He put an arm around his wife and pulled her close. Earwen protested half-heartedly but did not pull away when he kissed her on the lips hungrily. 

“Earwen, with this kiss I declare before all I love you until Arda is broken and beyond… If it would please you, please stay my wife…” Arafinwe vowed openly when he finally broke the kiss. 

“Ara, there are elflings watching…” Earwen nudged him and indicated a gawping Mornel. She had never thought her uncle capable of being so passionate in a kiss. This was the stuff Amarie shyly hinted at with regards to Findarato in that talk with Mornel after Mornel chanced on one of the gardeners embracing a maidservant in the palace garden. 

“Earwen, do you wish to remain my wife?” Arafinwe asked. Mornel hesitantly backed away. 

“I do, silly.” Mornel heard Earwen’s reply. She made some excuse about checking her fish-trap before dashing off. 

The waves had washed her fish trap loose and it bobbed lazily in a large rock pool. With a muttered curse she had picked up from Helwien, the elfling clambered over the rocks to retrieve the trap. A silvery laugh drew her attention and Mornel watched in amazement as a beautiful woman rose from the pool. Her long hair trailed behind her in the water like water-weeds. 

“A-are you are a Maia sent by Lord Ulmo?” Mornel asked cautiously. The woman seemed kindly enough but it was a strange island they were stuck on and one must be wary. 

“Greetings, princess. I am Uinen and yes, I am a Maia of Lord Ulmo.” 

“I must go fetch Uncle…” 

“Stay, I believe it will be best for your uncle and aunt to be left alone for a bit.” 

“It was Lord Ulmo, wasn’t it? The ship and everything. Why? Is he mad at Uncle? When can we go home?” Mornel slid down the slippery rock into the pool with a soft splash. 

“Have a seat, child. It will take a while to explain. It was my husband, Lord Osse whom Lord Ulmo tasked with spiriting your uncle and aunt here. We fear he did not note your presence on board. It is King Olwe’s wish for his law-son and daughter to relive the days of their courtship, and remember the love they had shared and still share even now.” 

“They have just admitted they love each other. Can we go home now?” Mornel asked. 

“Not so fast. Lord Ulmo will send a vessel to retrieve all of you in a few days. Till then your uncle and aunt should have the privacy to rekindle their affection for each other to help them both heal from their shared grief.” 

“I guess I am getting in the way of everyone, huh?” Mornel frowned. 

“Well, you could help out. I will keep you company if you promise not to tell them about me or Ulmo’s plan,” Uinen shrugged. “I will be here in this pool… Why, I think you caught a crayfish. Let me teach you how to prepare it…” True enough, there was a large crayfish in the trap. Uinen then taught Mornel how to bake the crayfish folded in leaves using a fire pit.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not too sure how I am going to continue from here. I guess the marooned on an island thing is going to be like a second honeymoon for the pair, with poor Mornel hanging out with Uinen in the rock pool. It’s not as though she could sail for Beleriand and her brothers on a driftwood raft, right?


	28. By Isil's Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel deals with being the third wheel as her uncle and aunt rekindle their love.

Arafinwe was smiling more brightly than Mornel had ever seen him smile before when she returned with the cooked crayfish held on a large waxy leaf serving as a platter. Earwen was smiling too. Earwen harvested some tender, yellow-skinned fruit from a nearby shrub. The fruit and the crayfish tasted sweet to Mornel. The meal was washed down with cool spring water. After their meal, Mornel felt sleepy and settled down for a nap in the shade, leaving the adults to their own devices.

* * *

Raindrops roused Mornel from her reverie. She saw Arafinwe and Earwen hastily running towards their shelter with a pot of shellfish they had gathered from the rocks. Rain pelted down upon the elves, forcing them to huddle together under the canvas even as the rain refreshed them by alleviating the earlier heat. A glowing ember from their campfire was salvaged in a hollow length of bamboo before the drops quenched it completely. A pile of brush and driftwood was secured under some canvas. Sitting on their firewood, Mornel tried her best to ignore the lovey-dovey whispers exchanged between her uncle and aunt. She was thankful they favoured Telerin. She really did not need to know how Earwen’s hair reminded her uncle of Telperion’s light. Or how brave a mariner her uncle was. 

Arafinwe rose to steady their flimsy shelter when a strong gust tugged at it. Earwen went to help him. The canvas held. As soon as the rain eased, Mornel announced that she was going to check on her fish-trap and pattered off barefoot over the damp sand. There was really no haste as their shellfish dinner was already gathered. Earwen and Arafinwe were piling up the dry wood and lighting it with their ember. Mornel was not going to intrude on them any more than she had to. She scanned the sand for more driftwood. Perhaps she would find enough to make their raft. To her disappointment, there were no pieces large or firm enough to build a raft with. 

The rain had stopped but the wind whipped Mornel’s hair about her face. The white-capped waves crashed on the rocks. The elfling clung tightly to the rocks, aware a rogue wave could knock her off her precarious perch. Finally, she reached the rock pool and saw her carefully-set fish trap smashed to pieces. Annoyed, Mornel called out to Uinen. Uinen did not emerge from the water. Instead, the scariest and ugliest creature the elfling had ever seen clambered out onto the rocks next to her. It had webbed feet and hands. The bulging eyes and gaping mouth made it look like a giant frog. 

Mornel let out a squeak of alarm and grabbed a length of driftwood. She lifted it above her head and swung with all her might. The frog-creature yelped when the wood cracked it over the head. 

“Peace, Mornel! This is my husband, Osse,” Uinen rose out of the pool and grabbed Mornel’s arm before she could hit the creature again. 

“Little brat has the temper of her atar!” Osse spat. “Thoughtless, reckless, impudent…” In response to the Maia’s words, the sea seemed to become choppier. A large wave crested over the rocks, drenching Mornel to the skin. 

“Now, now, Osse… No need for that,” Uinen coaxed. “She’s but a child…” 

Osse’s words touched a nerve in Mornel. 

“Aye, I suppose I am just like my atto, not just in looks but in temper and sheer impudence. I am nothing a demure, proper princess should be,” Mornel snapped. “I am never one for tact or proper manners…” 

“Mornel, you know that is not true…” Uinen explained. Lord Osse chuckled. 

“By Ulmo’s salty beard, my Uinen is right you know. If you had not stated the facts to those two elves so bluntly, they would still be swimming about each other when they should be f-“ 

Uinen clapped a hand over her husband’s mouth with a look of mock horror on her face. Mornel giggled and wrung saltwater from her tresses. She had heard enough from Helwien and Grandfather Mahtan’s apprentices to know what could happen between a ner and a nis - she was on the cusp of adulthood after all. Her good friend Amarie had rather mentioned fleetingly of such things between elves bound in love. Aunt Anaire had delivered a rather dry lecture on physical aspects of intercourse, pregnancy, and childbirth. It was Helwien with her candid description of the dynamics which proved most informative. 

Mornel decided she better allow her uncle and aunt more time and privacy. “Lady Uinen, could you teach me about the various fish and creatures in this pool, please?” The Maia nodded in reply and soon Mornel was holding a sea slug in her hand. Lord Osse washed a large lion’s mane jellyfish into the pool and Mornel narrowly escaped a nasty stinging. He then found a large conch shell as an apology, and Mornel set it out to dry on the rocks. A hermit crab carrying a sea anemone on its shell amused Mornel to no end. Time passed and the sun was dipping below the horizon when Mornel decided she better return to her uncle before he got worried. 

“Mornel, there is a special show tonight… watch the water at Isil’s rise,” Lady Uinen smiled as she slipped back under the water of the pool. Lord Osse had scampered back into the waves earlier after reminding the elfling to take her conch shell back when she left. 

“A show, what do you mean?” But the Maia had gone and Mornel could only wonder.

* * *

Mornel sprinted back to the campsite. The setting sun cast long shadows over the hill. Their campsite faced east and was in shadow by the time Mornel reached it. A campfire blazed cheerfully away. Boiled clams and mussels were their dinner. The soup was lightly spiced with red peppers Earwen had discovered during her walk with Arafinwe in the forest. Dessert was small sweet yams baked in the embers. 

It was Arafinwe who noticed the change as Tilion’s vessel climbed the eastern sky. 

“Earwen, look!” 

The bay was alive with blue-green glimmers of light. They flickered and blinked under the full moon. It was as if the sea was ablaze with a thousand stars mirroring those in the sky. The lights bobbed and scattered in ribbons as the waves gently rolled in onto the sand. Arafinwe took Earwen’s hand and ran towards the waterline. For a moment, they hesitated. Then they ploughed into the surf, stirring up more of the blue-green lights. The elves paused when they were about waist-deep in the calm water. The lights clung to them, scattering, merging and changing patterns around them in a crazy kaleidoscope. 

Arms wrapped around each other, Arafinwe and Earwen stared into each other’s eyes before kissing deeply in the moonlight. Mornel stopped short at the edge of the water. She dipped a hand into the surf and marvelled at the blue pinpricks of light clinging to her hand. _Surely this must be the show Lady Uinen was referring to. It must be Lord Ulmo’s magic…_  

“It is sea magic, as your aunt Earwen would tell you,” Uinen’s voice whispered as she placed a hand on Mornel’s shoulder. “The coral blooms on full moon nights and the sea comes alive… Come, let’s leave your uncle and aunt be.” The Maia started singing a song of corals dancing in the moonlight. 

“Coral dancing? Are corals alive?” Mornel frowned. She recalled the coral she had seen in Alqualonde marketplace. It was a hard material skilled craftsmen carved into trinkets. She could not imagine them causing the lightshow she had just witnessed in any way. 

“Of course they are. The ones the Lindar carve are only their skeletons,” Uinen explained. “Tomorrow, we’ll take you out to see the reef. It’s a city built by the coral and home to many beautiful fishes. We will need to dive…” 

“Dive? I am not a good swimmer…” 

“Don’t fret. There is a part of the reef in the shallows where the water is clear enough to see the corals…” the Maia explained as they walked on the moonlit beach to the rock pool.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lights are bioluminescent plankton and the triggering event is a full-moon coral blooming here.


	29. Return to Alqualonde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After rekindling their bond, Arafinwe and Earwen return to Alqualonde amidst much celebration.

The following days passed as if in a dream. The sea and the island were bountiful with their harvest and the elves did not lack food or drink. Uinen made good on her promise to teach Mornel about the creatures of the island’s watery realm. Mornel ventured out onto the exposed reef at low tide with her feet protected by the milky secretions of a certain species of sea cucumber from the razor-edged rocks. With the Maia’s aid, her swimming skills improved by leaps and bounds. Soon she was swimming out into the deeper waters to dive for clams and kale with Earwen. Arafinwe was not as good a swimmer and kept to the shallows to spear fish. 

The colourful birds that populated the island’s forest engaged Mornel in conversation but they knew little of the world beyond their forest. The seabirds which visited the island cliffs Mornel hailed and bade them to take word to Aiwendil. They would agree before continuing on their flight but Mornel had long learnt that some birds have short memories and were easily led astray from their mission. 

On the seventh day since their marooning, Mornel was shaken out of her reverie by her aunt. A sail had been sighted and her uncle was throwing green vines onto the campfire to send up a great plume of white smoke. The castaways were to be rescued by a smiling King Olwe. Mornel was engulfed in a hug by two of the crew, who turned out to be her Telerin friends the Tinwions. After their disappearance, Olwe had sent out ships to scout the coasts of Aman and Tol Eressea. Little did they expect to find them where they did. Olwe was delighted how his law-son and daughter now stood hand-in-hand. 

Mornel’s feathered friends did bring news that they were safe but they were clueless as to where the island was and could not convey its position to Aiwendil, so Olwe said with a twinkle in his eye.  _Did you know Aiwendil sent out an albatross to scour the sea as far as the Outer Lands? Perhaps you might speak with the bird on his journey when we return to Alqualonde._  

Earwen frowned when she noticed the mischievous twinkle in her atto’s eye.  _Was this all planned?_ She pouted as she clung to her husband’s hand. 

 _I know not if it were blind chance or by some device we came to be here, but I cannot regret it,_ Arafinwe kissed his wife on the brow to soothe her. 

 _Neither do I._ Earwen smiled. She allowed Arafinwe to sweep her up into his arms and bear her aboard the Swan-king’s ship that way. 

Mornel and the Tinwions salvaged what tools they could from the campsite. The coloured birds shyly squawked their farewells from the forest. As they sailed away westwards, Mornel watched the white fog closing in about the island. She doubted they would find the same island again.

* * *

The return of their princess and the Noldoran was greeted with great cheer by the elves of Alqualonde. They were not alone in their joy for a missive had been dispatched to Tirion after Earwen and Arafinwe were witnessed being swept out to sea on their vessel. Indis and Anaire had made the journey to Alqualonde and were received hospitably in Olwe’s palace. Lady Anaire let down her guard and embraced her best friend as soon as Earwen stepped into the palace. A barely-restrained Indis stroked her youngest child’s cheek fondly while decrying the sorry state of his garments. Queen Falmiril announced that a great banquet would be held in honour of the healing of the rift between Arafinwe and Earwen before the Noldoran returned to Tirion with his wife. In the midst of the merriment, Mornel was quite overlooked and she retreated to the gardens unnoticed. 

“Greetings, little one,” Serelinde smiled as she looked up from her music scrolls. Mornel sat down next to her on the bench. She had washed off the grime and salt from the island in the baths before donning a clean tunic. Her hair she wore unbound down her back. Serelinde clucked her tongue and took out a comb. She bade the elfling sit before her whilst she braided those unruly tresses. 

“You did well, Mornel, bringing Arafinwe and Earwen back together.” 

“I did nothing, really…” 

“I heard it from the swans who heard it from the gulls. Moreover, Lady Uinen comes into Olwe’s gardens often for there is a lake here under her protection. You have a special gift, Mornel. You see the truth beneath and are not afraid to speak it. There, your hair’s all done now… Let’s go join the others on the terrace.”

* * *

The following week passed in a frenzy as Earwen prepared for her return to Tirion. Gowns were packed and then unpacked as Anaire and Earwen discussed the latest fashions in Tirion. A high waist was seen as passé now in the city although still serviceable in Alqualonde. Likewise for gold thread. Anaire promised to send her dressmaker to Earwen to make sure she had the latest fashions on her return. Arafinwe took some time to discuss matters concerning Earwen with her parents. Arafinwe felt it would be prudent for them to work out a schedule for visits so that Earwen’s parents were not deprived the company of their surviving child. 

Mornel found Aiwendil and the albatross he sent out. The bird spoke of grim lands blighted by the shadow of a fallen Vala. Lord Manwe’s mighty Eagles flew further and might have seen more but they would only report to the Lord of the Winds himself. There were elves, mostly of Olwe’s sundered kindred, who made their abode along the hostile coast. The brave bird did not spy any of the Noldor exiles, perhaps they had gone inland. Mornel thanked the bird for his trouble and fed him fresh anchovies. 

_Perhaps I had hoped there would be news of my cousins and brothers. That they had found a security in an alien land despite Moringotto. Alas I know this is wishful thinking. There has to be cause for the Great Journey after all. The Outer Lands are not as peaceful as Aman. But Lord Ulmo still roams the Outer Lands through its myriad waterways and wetlands, as do his Maiar. Perhaps he will watch over them._

* * *

 

The day of departure drew nearer. Mornel could not help noticing how being with Earwen seemed to wear away the bitter shell around Aunt Anaire. The nissi chatted and often giggled at some distant memory they shared – like the time Earwen’s brother put a harmless snake in the baths to scare the wits out of Anaire. Raumeldo did not expect Anaire to calmly pick up the serpent and release it into the gardens with nary a flinch. Earwen was terrified all the same. Yes, she still disliked live eels because they looked so much like snakes. Earwen helped Anaire dress her hair in the Telerin manner. Mornel thought they were almost sisters, so close they were. 

Mornel studied the harp under Serelinde and went riding on Fearocco when time allowed, which was often. The little princess had brought few belongings from Tirion to start with and they were easily packed.   

Mornel would love to stay on in Alqualonde with Serelinde, Olwe, and the Tinwions but Lady Indis brought news from distant Lorien. Her amil was strong enough to leave Este’s care and would be returning to Tirion shortly. Nerdanel had indicated to Mahtan her intention of resuming her craft in the city. Indis insisted as wife of a prince, she should be granted rooms with her child within the palace but Nerdanel declined the offer. However, she did agree for Mornel to continue her lessons in the palace. Her amme simply did not feel up to taking on any apprentices or seeking out her colleagues who remained with the purpose of placing a child of Feanaro into their tutelage. Besides, Mornel was still young and had not yet displayed any leanings towards sculpture or smithwork. 

It was time for them all to return to the white city of Tirion.

* * *

On the eve on their departure, a great banquet was hosted in the square. King Olwe felt that all should have a part in this joyous occasion. They did, however, observe a moment of silence when Mornel placed a wreath on the memorial plinth for the slain elves, Teleri and Noldor, before the festivities at Lady Indis’ insistence. Mornel had to make a token gesture on behalf of her absent father and brothers, no matter how belated. Best now when the Teleri were inclined to look upon her kindly. 

King Olwe and his queen mingled freely with their people while Lady Indis and Anaire kept to the high dais where the town’s nobility congregated. Earwen and her husband alternated between dancing in the square and making passing conversation with the nobles. Mornel was swept up in a giddy reel with Surihin Tinwion before Anaire called out to them. Regretfully, Mornel ended the dance and returned to Lady Indis’ side.  _Proper noble ladies do not dance with shipwrights’ apprentices,_ Anaire chided. Mornel saw how she smiled at one of Olwe’s courtiers when he asked her for a dance. 

The platters and goblets of the high table were constantly refilled by serving elves. As a minor, Mornel was not permitted to partake of the heady liquor served to the grown elves at such celebrations. Feeling thirsty after the dance, Mornel took a deep gulp from her goblet of sweet wine. Immediately, she felt an odd sensation in her belly. 

“Mornel!” Lady Indis exclaimed at the resounding burp which erupted from the elfling. The musicians and dancers paused. So loud was the sound. Later some would claim it sounded like the legendary Kraken, Lord Ulmo’s pet, had gotten loose from the Outer Seas and was visiting Alqualonde. Some claimed it was Lord Osse after a night of hard drinking. They did not wonder long for Mornel haplessly burped out an apology. 

Mornel wished the ground would open up and swallow her up and hide her from the disapproving glare of Lady Anaire. Lady Indis was flustered when she realized every word coming from the child was a loud burp. Arafinwe’s eyebrows rose, then a smile came to his face. Earwen was giggling into her hands. The Tinwions were chuckling. Serelinde was trying hard not to laugh but failing. Mornel could not help laughing herself in between burps despite the mortified looks on Lady Anaire’s and Lady Indis’ faces. 

“Perhaps our guest is tired,” Olwe announced. It was well past Mornel’s bedtime. With as much dignity as she could muster, Mornel smiled and thanked the elves of Alqualonde between burps, setting off a peal of laughter in the crowd. Serelinde quietly whisked her off to the palace where an antidote for the burping was administered by a healer. Later two serving elves would apologize for their prank. They did not mean to harm Mornel, not too badly anyway, especially after they learnt of how she had helped Lady Earwen. Unfortunately, the drug had already been slipped into her goblet and they could not replace it in time. What could Mornel do but forgive them? Burping continuously was exhausting and she was looking forward to bed. 

The Noldorin entourage left the city before the sun rose too high. Mornel bade farewell to Serelinde and the friends she had made during her stay in Alqualonde, promising to visit them should the occasion arise. Perched atop Fearocco, whose coat had been brushed to a shining gleam by the grooms, Mornel rode out of the city gates behind her uncle and aunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is fast approaching its end. Possible Mornel will reach her majority in the next few chapters. She might want to have a talk with her amme before then.  
> Ara and Earwen have guessed at Olwe's possible role in their misadventure, but they do not mind it one bit.


	30. Mother and Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerdanel sees how much her little girl has grown but Mornel feels restless in Tirion.

Nerdanel fidgeted with her tools for the hundredth time. She had opened up the windows and taken the dust-cloths off the furniture. Her sons’ rooms she left untouched. For the chamber she had once shared with Feanaro, she had swapped the large double bed for twin cots for herself and her daughter. Nerdanel did not wish to alter the home she had shared with her sons so long ago for fear and hope they might one day return. She had felt little when she tossed out the bed linens she and her husband once had lain together on. 

This emotional distancing from her husband was a step in her healing, Lady Este had explained. She need not feel guilt over it. Finwe had survived his grief at losing Miriel and many others had done the same. It was necessary for the living spouse to continue and did not affect their shared bond. The bond could only be severed if both parties and the Valar… Nerdanel shook her head. _No, she will not think of it yet. For now she is still his wife, though many refer to her as Mahtan’s daughter as a courtesy._ The name of Curufinwe Feanaro was hardly mentioned now in Tirion. 

Nerdanel glanced up when Helwien finally strode up to her front door with Mornel in tow. The red-haired nis gasped. Mornel had grown and was starting to show the blossoming curves of a nis. Her features were handsome - her daughter would never be thought of as pretty. There was the unmistakable stubborn chin and proud cheekbones of Feanaro etched on their child. She was short for her age, barely the height of Telvo and Pityo. Maitimo would tower over her quite easily. 

She knew little of her youngest save through gossip. She had heard of the prank played upon Mornel at Olwe’s farewell banquet, and was glad nothing untoward had ensued. Feanaro would never forgive such a prank, viewing it as an insult upon his person. She had heard how Mornel helped Ingwion and his bride defy King Ingwe and was thus banished by him from Valmar in a fit of pique. There was even talk that the Valar might even intervene on her daughter’s behalf on that account.   

“Amme, I am here to see you…” 

“Mornel, you have grown…” Nerdanel put down her chisel and dusted off her apron. 

For a moment mother and daughter faced each other awkwardly. Mornel was no longer a little elfling who desired to climb into her amil’s bed for stories. Nerdanel blinked away tears as she realized how much she had missed of her child’s growing years. Despite the demands of her projects, she had dandled each of her sons on her knee and soothed them when nightmares came. True, she had left much of the younger ones’ care to her older sons but still… She could not recall ever having comforting Mornel from a nightmare, watching her take her first steps, or hear her speak her first word. She had been so bedridden with grief and exhaustion then. 

Helwien coughed and made an excuse about stabling Fearocco, who was peering in through the parlour window. 

 _Go on, princess… I think your amil wishes to hold you._ The horse tossed his head. 

“Amme,” Mornel threw all her reservations to the winds and embraced her mother. The horse whinnied in approval. 

Helwien stayed to help unpack Mornel’s belongings. Arafinwe had bestowed many gifts of clothes and more on his niece but Mornel insisted she could not possibly take everything. Her amil’s house was small and bulky, fancy furniture would not fit in there. Moreover, where was she to put those exquisite court gowns? Most of the gifts remained in the palace and her old room in the guest wing was kept ready in case she needed some privacy between her courtly duties and lessons.

* * *

Together with her amil, Mornel would make her home here in the artisans’ quarter. The craftspeople who remained in Tirion glanced warily at the returned Nerdanel and her daughter. Perhaps Mornel might show an interest in one of the many crafts practiced there. With her parents’ blood in her veins, she would be a master in whatever craft she chose. Or perhaps the Noldoran would like her to assist him with his courtly duties? Finwe had Nolofinwe attend court by his side. Likewise, Nolofinwe had both Findekano and Turukano attend council meetings as part of their princely training. Prince Turukano had even been entrusted to manage the Tirion Market neighbourhood and keep the peace there. 

 _What would become of Curufinwe Feanaro’s daughter?_ The neighbours whispered. Her features were strikingly like her father’s but she lacked the fierce arrogance which had characterized Feanaro. She was a quiet thing, content to aid her amil with the housework and tending to her horse when not busy at her lessons in the palace. Sometimes she would accompany her law-sister or her amil when they ventured out from the city to gather clay or some plants for their respective crafts. 

In the court, there was talk about a possible betrothal for the princess as soon as she reached her majority, but who would willingly allow their son to be joined with a family so darkened by the Kinslaying? Lady Indis shook her head as noble after noble declined. Arafinwe declared that rather than force the issue, it would be best to allow fate to run its course. Had not his eldest sister remained single and happily so, dedicated to Lady Este? 

Perhaps they could apprentice her to Rumil as a scribe, she was his student and he had little complaint of her, Arafinwe suggested. Anaire immediately protested. As a scribe, Mornel would be stuck transcribing all the court meetings and that was work far too lowly for a member of the royal house. Of course, Arafinwe wryly remarked, the scribes were under the supervision of Lady Anaire and she would have to entrust Mornel with suitable duties befitting her station. 

Earwen suggested sending Mornel to Lord Orome. Had not the Valar indicated his goodwill by giving her that horse? That gift was no clear indication he would mentor her like he did Tyelkormo, Arafinwe added. It might be more feasible to send her to Alqualonde to be trained as a minstrel under Serelinde. However, it was too soon after their last visit and… 

By the time the dinner bell sounded, the grown-ups had discussed a good many possible futures for their youngest princess with no decision. Mornel would not be matched with anyone, or apprenticed to anyone. She would remain in Tirion with her amil. Lady Indis pursed her lips. This state of idle contentment imposed on the elfling disturbed her. Already she had spotted the first signs of restlessness in Mornel. Unlike the Vanyar, the Noldor chafed at idleness. Their people had to venture further, delve deeper and raise their craft to ever greater heights.

* * *

Mornel learnt what she could about her father and brothers from the archives. She questioned those who knew them well, drawing them into casual conversation. She studied what documents she could find about the Darkening and the aftermath. Something niggled at her mind even as she pieced together a portrait of her absent kin. There was one missing piece. Finally one morning, it occurred to her. 

 _Formenos._ The northern stronghold of the Noldor had lain abandoned by the Eldar since the Darkening. She had to go there and see it for herself. 

“Mornel, I absolutely forbid it!” Nerdanel all but slammed her hands on the dinner table. “This is madness – there is nothing left there for you, or any of us.” She had cooked Mornel’s favourite grilled fish, with Earwen’s help. This was meant to be a quiet dinner for the two of them, away from the palace – a chance for them to talk. Mornel’s lessons and duties at the palace often meant she returned home long after supper. Nerdanel was in the habit of rising early to work on her sculptures. They had little in common to speak of save for their family. 

“Amme, but that was where Atto and my brothers spent their last years in Aman…” 

“It is a bad place, tainted by Shadow. No elf has dared set foot there since…” 

“Did the Valar forbid them from doing so?” Mornel rose so that she was facing her amil across the table. 

“Lord Manwe, you sound just like him – your father…” Nerdanel groaned. “Why, are you not content here in Tirion? Do you wish to defy the Valar and venture out into the Outer Lands as he did, as they did?” she sank back onto her chair and threw her apron over her face to muffle her sobs. _She’d lose this argument, the same way she lost to Feanaro._  

“Amme, I do not wish to defy the Valar… I have no wish to go forth into the Outer Lands,” Mornel softened her tone and embraced her amil. “It’s just that I feel restless. Tirion is comfortable but I feel this is not my place, my part. Uncle has been so kind to me. I have no wish to trouble him. Perhaps I desire to explore the wilds of Aman as Atto once did – and Formenos. I have read in the scrolls about its mountain fastness and its mighty vault where Atto kept his treasures…” 

“Those treasures are long gone and the fortress lies in ruins,” Nerdanel felt her heart sink at her daughter’s words. She had found the fortress cold and unwelcoming then. She could not bear the thought of returning to it. Feanaro had thought of it as a prison. Finwe had tried to make it as comfortable as possible but Feanaro’s moods only grew darker and he shunned the company of his kin for that of his jewels. 

“Yet the Valar had not issued any decree against resettling it, did they? If we allow our fear of the Shadow’s taint to keep us away, would not it be a victory for Moringotto? We do not know if it is still standing, or if it can be rebuilt… Not unless we see it for ourselves…”   

“Mornel, I have no desire to see that ill-starred place which has brought us nothing but grief,” Nerdanel was adamant. She could not bring herself to look her daughter in the eye for fear she might give in. She excused herself from the meal, pleading a headache. 

Mornel finished her meal and cleared the table in silence. She had hoped her amil would be supportive of her decision and grant her blessings. Alas it was not to be. When she first raised the issue with her tutor, Master Rumil had tried to dissuade her. Amarie and Eldalote had both voiced their own misgivings about her venture, fearing she would only encounter more grief there. Mornel had seen the sketches of Formenos – the towers and turrets, the high walls and gate. _Moringotto had smashed his way into the keep_ , Amarie had whispered in hushed tones, _slaying Finwe and stealing the Silmarilli._ _Leave the ruins to be overrun by the weeds and brambles,_ Eldalote added. 

_I have tried to put the thought from my mind, but it could not be silenced. I dreamed last night in reverie that I stood there before the gates which hung open. Within the deserted courtyard I saw the blood-stained tiles. I picked up a mop and bucket. I cleaned the blood from the tiles. I opened the windows and let the sunlight flood in. The house was dark no more. I climbed up the stairs to the tower. Gazing out I saw a busy marketplace full of life, and craftsmen industriously at work. This is what Formenos should be, not a place of exile but a place of peace and prosperity._

Mornel put down her quill. She could not do this alone, even if she were to come of age tomorrow. She would need to ask her uncle to give his support to her plan. She knew not if this was a message from the Valar or even Eru Iluvatar. She had no opportunity to speak or discuss this with Master Olorin yet. Perhaps she should mention her dream the next time she saw him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel is being drawn to Formenos through her dreams. There is definitely a message there about banishing the darkness from there. 
> 
> I picture Mornel’s role as she comes of age in the greater scheme of things as a peacemaker, healing the damage done by the Darkening and the Noldor’s flight.


	31. Interlude with the Valar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude with the Valar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am taking another break from the general narrative. This takes place in the Mahanaxar, where the Valar discuss the Doom and Mornel. A slight rewrite.

"Forgive me, my lord, but was Ingwe such an insufferable prig before?" Varda murmured as she fiddled with the trimming of her mantle. She and her husband had endured a tiresome morning listening to the Vanya expound on why his ban on Mornel Feanariel should stand despite appeals from both his sister and son to lift it.

“It would appear that being High King has gone to his head a bit.” Manwe snorted. "Verily, we do not need further divisions among the Eldar. But it is not my place, our place to decide how Ingwe runs his city. Though we meant good, ill has come from our actions past…"

“My Lord, you had hoped he would see sense and lift the ban without our intervention… perhaps he would relent after he has a grandchild,” Varda shrugged. Her husband could be so indecisive at times. It would have been a simple matter to make his displeasure with Ingwe known, even if they could not order the High King, or any of the Children about.

The Valar were having a rare gathering in the Ring of Doom to celebrate the mending of the bond between the Noldoran and Lady Earwen. Even Lord Ulmo had made the journey from his deep halls in the Outer Sea. Somehow, the conversation had turned to a certain raven-haired elfling.

"The daughter of Feanaro idles in Tirion still…" Aule murmured. The Valar Lord wondered at what creations a child of the Master Smith of the Noldor could create with the right guidance.

"It's not her place to be in your mansion," Namo replied. "Eru Allfather allowed her to be as part of a greater theme."

"To lift the Doom of the Noldor?" Aule raised his brows and allowed a twinge of hope to enter his voice. He missed his creations, hidden away in the depths of the earth. He knew not if he would ever see them walk in Aman. He now missed his students – the Noldor. Although many still came to his mansion seeking knowledge, too many had been swayed by Feanaro's speech and forsook the Valar. The Vanya and Teleri never had much inclination for smithing.

"The Noldoran and his people have made many offerings and prayers for its lifting but no, the child has nothing to do with its lifting. There will be many more tears shed before then…" Namo solemnly decreed. The burden of all those tormented fear occupying his Halls weighed heavy on him. He had been glad when the first of the Telerin slain began healing enough for their impending release.

The Avari preferred the silent dimness of the Halls to the Light of the Trees, or the Sun and Moon. The few Avari who were re-embodied wanted little to do with the Valar. For now, they have been given their own quiet woods and settlements deep in the south and the Pelori range. Lord Orome and his wife often ventured out in disguise to the settlements to ensure all was well. They had been affected, just as the High Elves had been during the Darkening. Moringotto's foul deeds had all but rent the very fabric of Aman asunder. Yavanna had watched them weep and mourn the passing of the Trees without even knowing it, bewildered by the deep dark and the following cold which caused their few crops to shrivel and the animals to hide away.

Now all was healed in Aman, save for one spot. Even the dark valley once polluted by Ungoliant had been reclaimed when a small tribe of Nandor elves moved in a few cycles of the sun ago. Yavanna had happily reported the birth of an elfling to a re-embodied elf in the tribe. No such birth had happened before and most of the Valar had thought it impossible. Most of the Eldar had their children young, or not at all. King Olwe had been concerned that his people would dwindle in the aftermath of the Kinslaying, for many of the slain and widowed were young and of child-bearing age. His own son was newly-wed and had been eagerly looking forward to fatherhood. It still remained to see if a nis well past her second millennia was able to bear a child. The oldest nis to bear a child in Aman was Miriel and that birth had sent her into Mandos’ Halls. 

"Formenos," Manwe nodded sagely but would not be persuaded to speak further on the matter.

The place had lain in ruins since the hasty departure of its inhabitants. The Avari and Nandor reborn avoided the place as if they sensed the taint of Shadow upon it. Lord Orome had once led a troop of Nandor hunters close, promising them a bounty of deer. The neri had refused to camp there on recognizing the ruins for what they were. No doubt they then spread many wild and fearful tales of the place among their kin. The Eldar had to reclaim Formenos.

"Actually, I would prefer for the princess to wed one of those ship-builder lads," Ulmo murmured. "If she becomes a Teleri's bride, what better way to seal the goodwill between the kindred?"

"Don't think about it. We have had enough problems with Finwe and Indis..." Varda retorted.

"About which, should we consider rendering the bonds of those whose spouses are under the Doom void? So that they might not languish but find happiness with another?" Este ventured. "Among the Avari and Nandor…"

"They had no idea their mates were meant for life, as long as Arda…" Varda interjected. "We made an exception with Finwe and…" Nienna chose that moment to burst into a fit of sobbing at the thought of those suffering couples sundered by the Doom and had to be led out of the Ring by her brother Irmo.

"The children of Finwe and Indis have added to the Arda, likewise their children… It will be poorer world without Findekano the Valiant, or the gentle wisdom of Arafinwe…" Manwe continued.

"Whereas Feanaro's rebellion has wiped out all his fair deeds?" Aule interjected.

"Nay. His path was set before…" Manwe added.

"Are you suggesting Finwe's mistake was with Miriel?" Vaire asked with an arched brow. The Valie felt a need to defend her protégé and handmaiden.

"Perhaps there was never a mistake. Perhaps it was all part of Eru Iluvatar's plan," Namo whispered hoarsely. He could sense the fear in his halls clamouring to be freed. Feanaro's fea flared restlessly as if disturbed by the slight on his amil's name.

"About the severing of the bonds, we cannot grant them this save in cases of special consideration," Lord Manwe ruled. "However, we will grant ease to those who are suffering from being sundered from their spouse. Let their bonds to be loosened so that they do not feel their loss thus keenly. As to whether they should take another spouse, they will have an Age to consider their decision before binding anew."

"How long is this Age going to last?" Vana murmured. "I feel much wearied." Such heavy discussions bored her.

"As long as Eru Iluvatar deems fit," Manwe replied and rose from his throne, a signal for all that the session was closed. 


	32. Coming of Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel comes of age and seeks her uncle's blessings to go to Formenos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arafinwe considers allowing Mornel to go to Formenos.

The nobles mingled below the royal dais. Earwen sat beside Arafinwe as his queen. However, her attention was not entirely on her husband, or the celebrations. Instead, she would reach over to pat or hold the child’s hand - No, Mornel was no longer a child. This celebration was in honour of her coming of age. Nerdanel was gone from Tirion – a job in Alqualonde needed her attention. Mahtan was also unable to make the journey due to his work. He did send a gift, a copper necklace burnished to a fiery sheen. It blazed against Mornel’s pale neck. They had dressed the princess in a silver-embroidered gown of indigo with her silver circlet upon her head. Matching silver ribbons had been braided into her raven-black hair. With her slight stature, she seemed more child than a full-grown nis. Perhaps in time she would grow tall. Anaire’s second son had attained his full height after he had come of age. There was a fey beauty in Mornel despite the pallor of her cheeks and her pinched lips. She was distracted and restless, and had been for many a day. 

The official gifts from Valmar and Alqualonde had been presented. Ingwion had sent bolts of Vanyarin cloth woven so fine they could have been silk. King Olwe sent a basket of pearls of various sizes and shades. Arafinwe had given her a harp crafted of silver, for Mornel had shown much promise in her music lessons. Master Olorin had also arrived at the feast to bestow the Valar’s good wishes and blessings upon her.

* * *

 

“Princess, what do you wish for?” Master Olorin had asked earlier as they waited for the first guests to arrive. 

“I- I do not know,” Mornel stuttered guiltily. 

“I think you do know. What have you dreamed of these past nights?” 

“Formenos? Uncle will never…” 

“You are a grown nis after this day. You can go forth on your own path.” 

 _Her own path._ Technically, she could saddle up Fearocco, pack some supplies, and ride out to Formenos tomorrow morning. She had spent hours poring over the old maps. She knew all the trails and paths leading there. However, it felt wrong to go without the blessings of her elders. It would be most ungrateful to say the least.

* * *

“Mornel, it’s time for the dance,” Lady Earwen nudged her niece, snapping Mornel out of her train of thought. The Noldoran was already on the ballroom floor, waiting for her. The minstrels were starting the music for the dance. Mornel hastened to join her uncle. It should be Feanaro dancing the first dance with Mornel on this special day. 

No one was sure how the tradition started. Some say it was at Findis’ coming-of-age ceremony, where Finwe sought to coax his shy daughter out of her shell by dancing with her before the entire court. Finwe did the same with Lalwen even though she needed no encouragement to mingle. Lalwen had demanded the next dance of her dear elder brother Nolofinwe. Feanaro had refused to attend the dance. The practice rapidly caught on among the Noldorin nobility and even in the prudish Vanyarin court. Daughters of nobility were presented as they came of age, having their first dance with their fathers and the following dances with their elder brothers. The celebration was also a good opportunity for parents to introduce suitable neri to their daughters and for would-be suitors to seek the young lady’s attention.  

Irisse raised more than a few eyebrows when she insisted on having the traditional first dance with her cousin Tyelkormo instead of her father. She did always have a fondness for her older cousin even then. Nerdanel had persuaded Feanaro to allow their sons to attend the celebration. Nolofinwe had given in to her whim. Nerwen had danced with her father and three brothers in the proper manner. Earwen had been so proud of her little girl then. Mornel had been trained in the courtly dances by both Amarie and Anaire. She executed the steps of the stately dance both gracefully and precisely – just as her Nerwen had done. Earwen blinked away a tear as the Noldoran and his niece concluded the dance with a bow and curtesy respectively. The Noldoran returned to his throne and Mornel followed him back to the dais. There were no brothers or cousins for her to dance with. None of the neri present came forward to ask Feanaro’s daughter for a dance. It was a far cry from the coming-of-age of Lalwen, Irisse, and Nerwen, all of whom were swiftly beset by eager suitors upon their coming-of-age like bees to a flower. 

“I wish we could have thrown such a party for Itarille,” Lady Anaire murmured to her best friend and dabbed at her eyes with her hanky. Lady Earwen nodded in sympathy. Itarille should be of age by now, _if she still lived_. She was a few years shy of her majority when she followed her grandfather and father into Exile. Surely Turukano and Elenwe would protect their daughter from whatever dangers they might face outside the safety of Aman. 

Mornel’s face fell when she overheard her aunt’s words. She wished Itarille was here, likewise Findarato. _Surely he would be dancing with Amarie on this night as her betrothed, or would they have married by now? Would Itarille be dancing with some handsome ner, or chatting with the other noble nissi by the drinks table?_ Pairs of elves had taken to the floor dancing in turn, Amarie among them. Arafinwe had danced with his queen. Even the dour Lady Anaire was invited to dance by a nobleman. It had been a long while since a royal nis came of age and the courtiers were enjoying the celebration. The dancing and feasting soon drew to a close. The king and queen thanked their guests for coming. Mornel had only danced once the entire night - with her uncle. Master Olorin did not dance with anyone but partook heartily of the refreshments and gossip. 

As the last guests left the hall, Mornel turned to her uncle. Master Olorin was watching her keenly. She knew she must act now before she lost her courage.

 “Uncle, I feel I must go to Formenos,” she blurted out. 

“Why, Mornel?” Arafinwe exclaimed. He saw no reason for her, or any of the Eldar, to go there. Haltingly, Mornel related her recurrent dreams about the northern outpost of the Noldor. The Noldoran turned to the Maia when she was done. 

“Master Olorin, is this the Valar’s will?” 

“Do not ask me that, Your Majesty. Not when you know Lord Irmo is the master of dreams and visions. If the child desires to go, she will be confronting the ghosts of her House that still linger in Aman,” the Maia shrugged in reply and nonchalantly bit into an apple he had been buffing on his smock. 

“Then may she lay them to rest,” Arafinwe replied grimly. He was not keen on the idea of letting his niece venture there. He had no desire to see where his beloved atar had fallen, and where many said his eldest brother’s brilliance turned to full-blown madness. “Mornel, as reluctant as I am to let you go, I give you my blessings and any necessary aid. May you find what you seek.” 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Mornel resisted the urge to hug her uncle and executed a very proper curtsey. Aunt Anaire was still present and would not approve of such unbecoming behaviour. Instead, Lady Earwen came forward to hug her. Arafinwe placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He knew it would be an uphill task to rebuild Formenos, for many among the Eldar still thought it a place of shadow.

* * *

It took two months for the arrangements to be made. Given that Mornel had not expected anyone from Tirion to follow her willingly on her journey, she was surprised when Helwien volunteered to accompany her. 

“I have never been to Formenos, too busy perfecting my dyes to visit Carnistir back then – He told me he had set up camp beside a lake in the woods to get away from his brothers. He claimed it was as fair a place as they say Cuivienen was in the old days,” Helwien smiled as she helped Mornel pack. She had brought a sturdy hunting bow for Mornel, one of Carnistir’s. They could not expect to rely on Lady Indis’ lembas alone. 

From Alqualonde, Nerdanel sent her reluctant blessings and a warm woollen cloak for her daughter. Mahtan had decided to take time away from his forge to act as his granddaughter’s guide. He met the nissi on the road two miles from Tirion. In his younger days, Mahtan had visited Formenos before the exile of Feanaro, sometimes as a guest of Finwe, more often to seek out copper deposits in the surrounding mountains. The ore there had since been exhausted. Master Olorin came with him. The party of four steadily made their way towards the northern outpost, camping out under the stars and living off lembas and small game. 

“When we first found copper there, we built some wooden huts for the miners and smiths. Your grandfather Finwe did not seek ore or gemstones there but he loved the woods and hunting, especially near the mountain lake Carnistir wrote to Helwien about. He built his hunting lodge there, and over time it became a keep with thick walls to guard against the elements,” Mahtan explained over the campfire. Mornel listened politely. She had come across the old records about Formenos in the archives, written in the old Sarati runes. Master Rumli had kindly helped her translate the documents. Finwe had spent both time and effort building what he had hoped would be a retreat for his family by Miriel. Miriel never set foot there in the end. There was always a tapestry to be completed in the palace in Tirion. Then came Feanaro’s birth and her death. Finwe never considered bringing Indis or his children by her to Formenos. The copper mines were managed from there. Mahtan’s people were given leave to use the keep as both lodging and storehouse. Feanaro stayed there a while before he wed Nerdanel. 

“He was young then and very hopeful. We had exhausted the copper vein then but there were still gems which your atar sought out. It was a haven for him to escape both the demands of court and his half-siblings. Finwe granted charge of Formenos to him.” Mornel painted a picture of her father in her mind’s eye – a young and eager apprentice of Mahtan. This would have been the young man her amil fell in love with. With his banishment, his once-haven had become a prison to him. Nerdanel never came to Formenos before the exile. She had disliked the place when she accompanied her husband there. She eventually returned to Tirion alone. 

“It was never meant to be a fancy palace, you know – more cosy-like. A blazing fire in the hall to sing songs around after a day’s hunting, some storerooms and bed chambers… They had stables, and a large kitchen, of course. Feanaro fixed up the vault later when he started storing his jewels there. That was about when they released Moringotto.” Mahtan had no reason to return to Formenos once the copper mines there were exhausted. Lord Aule promised him copper of exceedingly fine quality from the mines near Valmar, far better than that the smiths had been taking from the hills about Formenos. 

“I wish to rebuild Formenos, Grandfather. I want it to be a home, a haven for us, atto, and my brothers, when they return,” Mornel said quietly. There was still considerable ill-will in Tirion towards the House of Feanaro. Mornel was tolerated thus far by virtue of her tender years but she would soon be expected to take on courtly duties as a member of the royal household. That would not sit well with some factions of the Noldorin court. Nerdanel’s skill as a sculptress still ensured a constant stream of commissions from as far as Alqualonde. However, she was not welcomed by all of the city’s inhabitants, among them her guild-fellows.   

“We should reach there in two days’ time,” Master Olorin added. The trail had been long overgrown by brambles and the going was much slower than expected. Parts had even crumbled away. Makeshift bridges of rope and wood had to be constructed over the gaping chasms to allow their horses to cross. It was fortunate that Mahtan still retained the woodsmanship of his youth before the Great Journey. 

“We should be able to see the towers by tomorrow if they still stand.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mornel will fully come of age when she reaches Formenos and confronts the shadow on her House.


	33. The Night is Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornel confronts the ghosts of Formenos and ushers in a new era.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have had a lovely journey so far with Mornel but it is time to round up this fic.

The going had been much tougher than they had expected. Now they stood in the shadow of the ruins of Formenos. They could see the towers and turrets looming out of the gloom. They were that close. The steep path leading up to the gates had crumbled over the years of neglect. Thorns and brambles hindered their passage. It was too treacherous to attempt it in the dark even with their elven sight. 

 “It’s getting dark…” Mahtan warned. “We must make camp.” 

Mornel could not help feeling disappointed that no one had questioned Mahtan’s decision to stop for the night. She could spy in the gloaming light how the gates hung open, smashed by Moringotto’s merciless attack upon the keep. Still, she obediently helped Helwien light the campfire for a dinner of venison jerky stewed with peas.

She awoke some hours before dawn. She had dreamt the same dream again. She turned over in her bed roll, trying to find reverie to no avail. She was so close. Tomorrow she and her companions would be standing in the courtyard of the keep… 

Mornel sat up in frustration. Her grandfather was snoring soundly, deep in his reverie. Helwien was slouched against a rock. She had volunteered to take the final watch before dawn, a prudent practice to keep watch over the campfire throughout the night, lest it went out or caught the grass. However, the fall of red hair over her face suggested that she too had given in to weariness and was deep in reverie. 

Mornel shuffled over to the campfire and stoked it. Just outside the circle of firelight, their horses, including Fearocco, were asleep where they stood. Olorin’s bed roll was empty and there was no sign of the Maia. 

“Master Olorin?” Mornel called out into the shadows. There was a soft rustle in the bushes. Mornel did not need to wait long before her friend stepped into the firelight, making a great show of smoothing his tunic. 

“I cannot fall back into reverie…” Mornel complained tersely. “I wish to press on…” 

“It’s only a few hours to daylight,” Olorin shrugged. “We can continue on then…” He sat down by the fire. 

Mornel nodded sourly in reluctant agreement. Once more she laid down on her bedroll. 

 _She was climbing up the path and making good progress despite the thorns and brambles._ Half in reverie, Mornel tossed and turned on her bed roll. 

_She could feel the cool flagstones of the courtyard under her feet, as if she were barefoot. Where were her boots? The keep seemed to be holding its very breath, waiting… Welcome, Mornel Feanariel… We’ve been waiting for you… She could sense the pale shadows of her sundered family waiting…_

Mornel sat up again. She knew she would not find reverie again tonight. She glanced over to where Olorin was apparently drowsing with his knees folded up to his chin with his head resting on his crossed arms. She called out to him softly but he did not stir. 

She knew what she had to do. Fearocco tossed his head, whinnied softly and trotted over as she selected a sturdy rope from their kit. She had learnt from Mahtan how to use the ropes and pick-axes to cross chasms in the path should she encounter any. 

 _Not waiting for daylight, princess?_ The horse nudged her gently as if begging her to reconsider her decision. 

 _I have to do this before the night passes._ Mornel replied mentally. 

 _Then up on my back, princess. We need no ropes and picks weighing us down._ The horse pawed at the turf with a heavy hoof.

Mornel clambered onto Fearocco’s bare back and clung onto his mane. The horse snorted and galloped swiftly towards the path leading to the fortress. It was only after they had left the firelight behind that Mornel realised she had indeed forgotten her boots. 

The path was indeed both steep and treacherous. More than once she felt her steed falter beneath her as his hooves fought to find traction on the loose stones of the path. Once Fearocco bade her to sit tight as he leapt over a gaping chasm where much of the original roadway had been washed away by some flood. The horse was gasping and his sides were lathered with sweat by the time they finally reached the mighty gates, blackened and twisted as Moringotto had left them so long ago.  

“Thank you so much, Fearocco,” Mornel kissed her horse’s mane as she slid off his mighty back. She wept when she saw in the pale light of the setting moon how the sharp stones and brambles had gashed Fearocco’s flanks and legs such that they were bleeding from many scratches. 

 _‘Tis nothing, princess. Hurry, it will be day soon._ The horse snorted. He was exhausted from the effort of the climb and would go no further. Mornel nodded.   

Like in her dream she picked her way across the courtyard. There were no bloodstains on the flagstones of course. Her brothers and atto would have made sure the blood was cleaned up before they left for Tirion with their grandfather’s body. She found by the main door a long-forgotten lantern horn with a tinderbox and flint beside it. She lit the stub of a candle within the lantern horn. 

Cautiously, she picked her way through the keep by its wavering light. Unbidden, she found her way to the long abandoned rooms of her family. A large chamber with scattered scrolls and odd tools suggested her atto’s own workshop. He would have slept there many a night on the dusty cot in the corner. 

Another large chamber sported a moth-eaten tapestry depicting the device of the House of Finwe. No doubt this would have been her grandfather’s room. A ragged cloak hung from a hook and a pair of dusty slippers sat beside the bed as if they were waiting for their master’s return. 

She found her brothers’ rooms. Matimo’s had dusty tomes and crumbling letters still scattered about on the table. A clothes chest was open and half-filled with now moth-eaten garments as if he had been interrupted whilst packing. Makalaure’s room had music sheets strewn on the floor out of which a large harp rose in the centre of the mess. A fruit bowl on the table contained the sad remains of what could have been berries. 

Tyelkormo’s arrows were carelessly tossed on his bedspread, half-feathered. A large basket sat at the foot of his bed, possibly Huan’s bed. An empty quiver hung from a hook on the wall. Carnistir’s room was surprisingly neat and sported a half-finished tapestry depicting a red-haired nis who might be Helwien or his mother. 

The only feminine touch in Curufinwe’s room was a vase of withered blossoms, no doubt his wife’s attempt to add a touch of beauty to their harsh surroundings. In the twins’ room, crudely carved wooden animals sat on a shelf. For a moment she imagined Pityo sitting on one of the two dusty beds, whittling a piece of wood into the likeness of some woodland creature. 

Mornel ignored the sad rooms the best she could. She hastened to the large window which overlooked the great central hall. She tugged at the window but the shutters had long rusted shut. She tugged and shoved. She grabbed a heavy lampstand and smashed at the window until the shutters finally yielded with a mighty groan. The bright dawn washed into the gloom of the keep for the window looked out upon the east.

“The night has passed. The dawn has come,” Mornel breathed as the rays of sunlight washed over the ruins. It would take more than a day, perhaps more than a yeni, but she would rebuild Formenos. It would not be an easy task but she would persevere.    

From her vantage point, she could see Olorin smiling as he strode up to the keep. Mahtan and Helwien trailed behind him, their expressions a mix of relief and annoyance. She would have to apologise to them for making them worry and for going off without a word. Mornel looked out upon the wild country surrounding Formenos one last time before pulling herself away from the window and hurrying back through the corridors to the gate where her grandfather and friends would be waiting.   

* * *

 

“Sire, Lady Mornel writes from Formenos,” the chamberlain held out the envelope on a silver tray to Arafinwe as he sat at breakfast with his queen. The Noldoran smiled as he took the envelope and sliced it open with  bejewelled letter-opener. 

“Do read it, dearest,” Earwen smiled and tented her fingers, eagerly awaiting news from her niece. Mornel rarely visited Tirion nowadays, for the rebuilding of Formenos took up much of her attention.  It had been almost ten cycles of the sun since her coming of age. 

Arafinwe cleared his throat and read the contents aloud. 

_Dear Uncle Ara and Aunt Earwen,_

_First, I must send my apologies for missing the festival in Tirion celebrating Lady Yavanna’s gift of Galathilion. Work on Formenos is still being carried out as I write. Grandfather Mahtan and his colleagues have been of great aid in repairing the gates and vault, though I will not be storing any gems there in the foreseeable future. The roofs and windows of the keep have finally been fixed and we are now living in the keep proper instead of in tents in the courtyard._

_We are putting in a skylight for the grand hall as suggested by Prince Ingwion when he visited. He suggested we use Finwe Noldoran’s device as the design but I prefer my atto’s star device. It will match the mosaic tiles on the floor. He and Sorna brought their twins and I took the princesses boating on the lake. We had a campfire under the stars before they returned to Valmar._

_We have been blessed by Lady Yavanna with a bountiful harvest and plentiful game from Lord Orome. The goats have provided us with fine wool which the weavers wove into warm fabrics. In addition to the Noldor smiths and craftsmen from Tirion working on the keep, a band of Nandorin and Avari elves have joined us here. They prefer living outside the walls though they are more than happy to join us for the harvest and hunt. Many of the Nandor are skilled hunters._

_My atto and brothers’ rooms have been shut up for now. I will consider putting away their stuff should we have use of their rooms in the future. Grandfather Mahtan set up a forge outside the walls for the smiths and there is more than enough rooms and workstations to go round._

_I do miss Tirion sometimes. I wish amme would come join us here but I understand she has her work in Alqualonde on the harbour arch. We are writing to each other and I am taking her advice on the pillar design. We will use rose marble instead of grey granite carved in the style of tree trunks as inspired by the forest. Of course we will have to ship the marble in from the south. There is so much work that goes in managing a household, especially one that is growing like Formenos._

_The gates of Formenos will always be open to you all._

_With greatest respect, Mornel Feanariel._  

“Our little Mornel has grown up indeed,” Arafinwe smiled as he folded the letter and put it away. Earwen nodded in agreement. 

* * *

 

In the depths of the Halls of Awaiting, a fea stirred, making his first conscious thought in many years. 

_I have a daughter._

Finwe looked up at the pillar of fire and smiled. He thought he could discern the faintest outline of his son’s handsome features in the flames. If he could, he would have hugged his eldest.

_Yes, yonya. You have a fine daughter who will make your House proud._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter for now, but I am not ruling out more stories around Mornel in the future to be posted here or at fanfiction.net.


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